


Fools Rush In

by Redburn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also eventually, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Positive Work, Semi-Slow Burn, brief mentions of Lance/clients, eventually, minor OCs - Freeform, musician!keith, mutual pining idiots, plenty of pop culture references, sex worker!Lance, strong drug/alcohol usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redburn/pseuds/Redburn
Summary: Keith is a struggling musician just needing to pay the rent. Lance is a high-end prostitute with a heart of gold.They meet when Keith accepts the job as Lance's new driver and sometimes bodyguard.





	1. Everyday, Everyday

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, whoa.
> 
> this is my second attempt to start a multi chapter fic. the last one didn't go well because it had been rushed and not a story I could really manage to portray as well as I'd hoped. but this one I've decided to keep it simple, wanting to have (mostly) sole focus on our two leading men here and to get their journey across. I'm really excited to get this story going, and I really hope anyone reading this is too! 
> 
> so, I need to give a huge shout-out to [eclecticlion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticlion) for being amazing and helping me bounce ideas around, and for beta'ing me for this chapter and for future chapters to come. I can't wait to start this journey with you my friend! it's gonna be fun! 
> 
> also! any information I write incorrectly about the workplace or anything else in general, feel free to give me your thoughts! I'm more than happy to receive any tips to improve upon anything! :)
> 
> and title is from Elvis's 'can't help falling in love' because _klance_ that's why! :'D  
>  so on with the fic, and I hope you enjoy the ride! xx

Keith stops in front of his door, staring blankly at the 'Final Notice' stuck under some fraying duct tape. He rips it off harshly, the paper crumpling in his grip.

He pushes his door open with a heaving sigh, drop kicking his backpack to the floor, some loose notes and letters of rejection spilling out from the impact. He glares at it helplessly until he drags his feet over to the kitchen, desperate for some sort of spirit to drown in.

He's met with empty cupboards of sadness, and sighs again, doing a 180 and swiping his keys before heading back out the door.

There's a local liquor store that's open 24/7 on his block (Pidge thinks it's why he moved into that particular apartment, he insists otherwise) and he greets the man—Paul—behind the counter as he usually does. He plucks two bottles from the shelf up the back and pays for them with what he assumes is the last of the money in his account.

He's opening one bottle before he even reaches his building, enjoying the burn as it runs down his throat and settles pleasantly in his stomach. Stepping inside his apartment again, he debates downing the entire contents of the bottle but ultimately decides that, no, he doesn't want to _die_ tonight.

Instead he settles for flopping onto his poor excuse for a couch, staring at the TV but not bothering to turn it on. His mind, dammit to hell, chooses then to begin replaying the unsuccessful interview he had had that day—

Typical bald man with a typical cigar dangling from his chapped lips, face blank as he listens to the demo track while Keith squirms in his seat, his voice, distinctly monotone, eventually saying _sorry, it's not what we're looking for right now._

Keith raises his bottle in salute to his nine year old self— _thanks, idiot_ —for wanting the impossible—and possibly for his old primary school therapist always telling him to follow his dreams. Why couldn't he have picked a more reasonable career choice? Like a tax broker, or an award show seat filler?

 _Nope_ , he mouths with a 'pop'—so for now he's stuck with the withering hope to sing to the masses and begrudgingly mopping floors at his local community centre on weekends.

A light tap and a mewl for attention comes to life from the direction of his balcony, and he stretches his neck with struggling effort to find Red waiting for him behind the glass. With a smile he gets up to let her in, closing the door behind her before urging her over to sit up on the couch with him.

He plays with her fur once she's done sniffing his leg, light purring vibrating through his jeans as she settles up against him. He sighs down at her, says, “I blew it today. Feel sorry for me, please.”

She responds by doing nothing, and really, he expects that much.

“Life as a cat must be pretty nice,” he continues, fully aware he'll be receiving no responses of comfort. “Don't have to pay rent. Being a loner is more beneficial,” he stops to take another swing of whiskey.

Soon his eyes begin to trail over to where his bag still rests, pursing his lips, thinks if he stares at it long enough he'll suddenly acquire the power to set things on fire. All that happens instead is Red stretching leisurely in her place and a police siren flying by outside.

The time on his VCR flashes _7:30_ in bright yellow, and he chases away the urge to fall asleep now. His stomach whines at him, so he figures he should really consume something today that isn't in liquid form. He opens his fridge with ready disappointment, blowing out some air when it's confirmed.

He pulls out a pathetic lone egg and scrambles it up, adding as much salt as healthily consumable since he has nothing else flavour-wise to contribute. Red startles and hops away when he returns to the couch and finally decides to drown out his thoughts by watching some sitcom from the 80s he vaguely remembers as a kid.

Dumping his now empty bowl on his coffee table, he settles into the permanent groove he's made in the couch and brings the bottle back up to his lips.

On screen, Woody finishes greeting Norm after he walks into the bar for probably the seventy-fifth time, and it's when the audience reacts respectively that Keith drifts off into sleep.

 

/ / /

 

He's startled awake some time later, the bottle still in his hand almost dropping to the floor in surprise. He draws out a long suffering groan, the time now flashing _10:45_ , and what the _fuck_ —

“Keith, I know you're home—I can smell your regret out in the hall!”

Pidge—his childhood friend and a constant pain in his sleeping schedule. Another thing close to his apartment, too. Pidge and her brother, Matt, constantly swing by at any given time, day or night. These days he's 98 percent sure their bodies are running purely on a Redbull and Redvine diet. If it's true it's certainly impressive but he wonders if he should book them in to see their local doctor, though.

“You're a gremlin sent up from hell,” it's not his best line, but he's waking up from a whiskey induced nap, so he's not entirely coherent right now.

He gets up, almost blindly walking towards his door and unlocking it, stepping away and letting Pidge close it behind her.

“Whoa, did you die or something?” She laughs, emphasising her quip with a poke to his cheek. He bats her away without any real force.

“Long day,” he says by way of excuse, and doesn't elaborate.

Pidge makes a noise in communication that she understands. Keith talks a lot of smack to her, but he's always thankful to have her in his life. It's been that way ever since the first day they met and both agreed to be co-founders of the _Cryptid Finders_ club. Ah, to be young and naïve again. As Pidge lands ungracefully on his couch he busies himself by washing his face in the bathroom.

“Hey, how'd your interview go today?” She calls out after him, her tone hopeful in a way Keith wishes he still possessed.

He stalls for a handful of seconds, judging his reflection with disdain before walking back out to face her. She averts her gaze from the TV expectantly. He throws her a half-smile.

“Fine, but it wasn't my day.”

“Ah,” her shoulders slump, and Keith hates causing that expression to appear on her face. “Sorry, I really thought...”

“Yeah,” he dismisses, taking up residence in the remaining cushion as Pidge throws her feet into his lap. She accepts, for now, that that's the end of it and instead begins rambling on about a new radio frequency she tapped into today.

Keith listens raptly, asking all the right questions when allowed, and pretty soon his mood shifts considerably. Pidge takes ownership of the other bottle of whiskey, and after a while they're laughing at jokes they've told each other a million times. Red is having none of their shit though and leaves them to the power of Fonzie gracing them on the small screen.

He's suddenly glad he has no morning commitments tomorrow, but then, he's also _disappointed_ he has no morning commitments tomorrow. So far his entire day will be spent at his local library, searching for jobs on a computer that's older then he is. Sad, he knows—who's going to play him in the movie?

He glances down to find his bottle half-empty, and whoa—he really needs to find a better hobby. And a cheaper one, at that. Pidge only seems more awake than usual (how does she _do_ that?) and chooses then to jump up from the couch and give Keith his own personal heart attack.

“'M hungry,” she stretches, multiple bones popping at an alarming rate.

Keith waves a hand. “Good luck. I think I saw some crumbs in the top cupboard last week.”

She heads towards the kitchen, but calls back to him. “Seriously? Want Matt and me to lend you some money?”

Keith grunts around the rim of the bottle. “You know I hate having debts.”

“Fine. Then we'll just give you the money—one strategically placed dime at a time so you won't realise it's us doing it.”

“Only dimes? Cheap.”

There's no remark for a while, so Keith takes it as a win and adds another strike to his imaginary tally. But then it becomes too quiet, and he's not sure if he's even fully conscious any more. He opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) and turns to inspect the damage. Only Pidge is standing right at the end of the couch, a piece of paper in her hand, and—

Wait... paper? Why is she glaring so hard at it...

Oh, shit.

“Um,” _words, Keith—use them. I know you know at least a few._ “That's... uh.”

She flips it over to show him as if he hasn't already seen it. “Keith,” it's her 'I'm too young to be using this disappointed-mother-tone but I'm going to try anyway' voice. It's been making an appearance more frequently lately.

“Okay, look,” he tries, but Pidge is having none of his excuses today, apparently.

She comes over to smack him upside the head, but there's no real force. “Seriously? You weren't going to tell me about this? Just let us give you some money, _please_.”

“Piiidge,” he whines, clutching the bottle pathetically like a comfort blanket.

“You're impossible,” she chastises, kicking his shin for good measure. “I'll come by tomorrow and help you find another job, alright?”

He assesses her as best he can with blurry vision, but knows, in the end, she's not going to leave him alone about this. He sighs, but sends her a smile. “I take it back, you're not a gremlin.”

“Damn right,” she chuffs, thumbing her chest. “I'm your fucking fairy godmother—only instead of magic there's Science.”

“Was science capitalised?”

“Damn right.”

“... Fair.”

 

/ / /

 

Pidge ended up staying over.

As capable as she was to get herself home, Keith honestly wasn't feeling too hot on being alone that night. Pidge seemed to pick up on his vibes and challenged him to a game of battleship. It ended in Keith's defeat and a cackling Pidge. Any _more_ power fitting inside her tiny body would be cause for alarm.

He wakes up the following morning half-falling off the bed. You would think Pidge wouldn't take up much space on a bed, but no—she was a gremlin hog, conscious or not.

He throws his pillow over his face when the sun catches his eye. Pidge is already shoving him awake though, muttering _c'mon Keith we gotta haul ass to the library_. Not the words you want to hear first thing on a Saturday. So he groans. Loudly.

There's no one else in sight when they step inside the old building half an hour later, and he's glad for it. Pidge pulls up a seat for herself and logs onto the computer, elbowing Keith every minute or so to keep him awake. There's this annoying sound creaking through the struggling air conditioner. He glares at it more than the website Pidge chooses to search on.

“So, full-time?” She asks as she enters his info.

“Yup.”

“Willing to work weekends?”

“Sure.”

A few moments of silence, then:

“Oh, how about this? 'Wanted: Dog walker; must love dogs, must hate Dave Matthews Band. Tips come later'.”

Keith levels her with feign disappointment. “Bummer. You know Dave is my one true love.”

“Right. Forgot.”

She turns her attention back to browsing, and Keith lets his eyes drift around the room. Inspirational posters cover every wall possible. All of that crap you're taught early on in school. _Yes, hello? This is bullshit calling_. He wonders, briefly, if maybe he should get off of this train—settle for something smaller, to stop thinking _hey, I have every chance to be one of the greats_.

An unsuccessful hour passes by, and they both resign to getting a late breakfast when Pidge's stomach basically growls loud enough that an old woman looks up across the dividers questioningly. They settle for Denny's, and Keith drinks three too many horrible coffee's while he's there. Pidge not so subtly pays for it when they leave, but Keith lets her have this one.

She promises better luck tomorrow and invites him around for dinner. Another not so clever way to make sure he's eating. He accepts, though, and makes his way back home. Before he reaches his door, his neighbour, Amalia, emerges from hers and greets him with a kind smile.

“Hello Keith,” her accent is always thicker earlier in the morning. Keith loves how her 'r's roll off her tongue.

“Good morning,” Keith searches for his keys, and he pulls them out along with a fresh $20 he hasn't seen before, too. _Dammit, Pidge. You sneaky s.o.b._

“I hate to ask this of you,” her smile turns a shade apologetic. “But I am working the night shift tonight, do you think you could...?”

He nods before she even finishes. It's sort of a frequent thing—he watches her kids when he can, and in exchange she offers him sinfully delicious food. He'd refused to accept any sort of money the first time, after it became known she was a single mother of two and already worked herself more than one person should.

“I'd be happy to, no worries.”

She strokes his cheek affectionately, “Thank you so much. You can come around six. Remember, no television for the kids after eight. There is some buridda in the fridge, okay?”

“Thanks, Amalia,” he smiles, waving her goodbye before making plans to retire to his couch, alarm set and the remaining half of his whiskey calling out to him.

 

/ / /

 

Pidge texts him Sunday afternoon as a reminder, as if Keith would risk the consequences of skipping out on stopping by their apartment. Pidge was his best friend, but she tended to dab into 'mum mode' whenever she thought Keith deserved it. And now _was_ probably one of those times.

They finally buzzed him up after he'd pressed the button several times, and clearly, as he stepped inside their apartment, he's not surprised when he's met with a cloud of smoke that clearly was meant to be from something once edible.

“You two really need to stop inviting people over for dinner if you're going to always burn everything,” Keith starts as he walks inside, batting the smoke away.

“Hey,” Matt retorts, waving a spatula in his face. “We slave and slave away for you, and this is the thanks we get?”

“For two geniuses, this should be only _slightly_ worrying,” Keith quirks an eyebrow before walking over to open up one of the windows. “Where's Pidge?”

“Bathroom; had to get the batter out of her hair,” Matt laughs as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

Keith settles down in his long ago self-appointed chair, kicking his feet up, not wanting any more involvement in the Holt's mission to burn down their building. After 8 solid hours of mopping floors and scrubbing toilets today, he was more than ready to do absolutely nothing of importance.

Pidge emerges a few minutes later, waving at Keith briefly before whispering something to her brother. Matt nods, and _dammit what in the hell were those two planning_. Pidge sits down opposite him, clearly trying to act aloof but failing as hard as their cooking attempts.

“So,” she purses her lips, a gesture Keith knows is her containing a smile.

“So,” he repeats, because he wants this to be over with before it had even started.

“So,” Matt calls from the kitchen, because of course he does.

Pidge breaks character easily. She jumps up from her seat and latches onto Keith's arm, eyes extra large behind her glasses. “Matt found you a job!”

Keith blinks. _Huh_. “Really?” he calls out to Matt curiously.

“Hell yeah, buddy!” Matt cheers, all smiles. Keith allows the excitement in his gut to spread, perking up. “No need to thank me. Actually no wait I take that back. Please thank me forever.”

Keith grins, standing up to walk over to Matt, arms squeezing the other man for everything he was worth. Matt nearly chokes. “Dude! That is amazing! _You're_ amazing—god I could _kiss_ you.”

“Aw,” Matt chuckles, pinching Keith's cheek. “I may fancy dudes as well, but that doesn't mean I automatically like _all_ of them.”

Keith rolls his eyes hard, moment ruined. “Your loss,” he punches Matt lightly, smile coming back. “Seriously though, what's the job?”

“Alright, well,” Matt shifted slightly, and it was a habit Keith knew Matt did when he was laying out the words in his mind first. He waits, brows furrowing ever so slightly. “So you remember my friend Hunk from my physics class, yeah?”

Keith nods.

“Well I ran into him the other day, and so we had a small catch up. He mentioned his job was hiring when I brought up my need to make some extra cash for my thesis research. But the job wouldn't work with my schedule, so he said to keep anyone I knew in mind,” he gestures to Keith, smiling, but he was stalling ever so slightly.

“Okay,” Keith looks over to Pidge to gauge her reaction. “What? Am I gonna have to get naked or something?”

“Uh,” Matt coughs, “No, but you _will_ be driving someone else around who _does_ get naked.”

Keith let that information wrap around his head once, twice, then—

“Huh?”

“It's completely safe work; and we trust Hunk” Pidge pipes up, sensing Keith's hesitancy. “So, Hunk works for a company that specialise in providing... a faster service for sex workers. A delivery service, if you will.”

Keith looks back and forth between the two siblings, making sure they're not yanking him like they've done multiple times in the past. _Okay, what?_ “Okay... what?”

Matt sighs, like Keith was a child that needs to be told _not to eat the glue_ for the third time. “Think 'Driving Miss Daisy'.”

“But it's not the 50s,” Pidge adds.

“And lets face it—you can't be as awesome as Freeman,” Matt continues.

“You know Matt and I come from a proudly Jewish family, but we can readily accept that man as our  _God—"_

“Guys,” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. He takes everything in, staring at a stain on the floor as he does. Finally he declares, “Okay. If you say Hunk says it's good work, then alright.”

“Yeah?” Matt grins, like he planned the entire thing. “Cool. Well I'll call him up now and see when you can go in for an interview.”

“So...” Keith trails off, still a bit startled by the whole thing.

“We know it's not really a job you would think existed,” Matt laughs. “But Hunk said the pay's good, and they have rigorous safety procedures for everything. It's all positive work.”

“Alright,” Keith agrees, again. He trusts his friends, mostly. And really, he's quite desperate at this point in time for cash. He thinks of Red, of Amalia next door, of his mother who he's honestly glad will never come to see how unsuccessful he's been so far in life.

Matt hands him a piece of paper half an hour later, with a time and address scrawled in black. He stares at it for a while as Matt ultimately orders take-out after throwing out their failed dinner.

 _It's just another job_ , he tells himself.

How hard will it be?

 

/ / /

 

Matt had written down for him to swing by for his interview the next day. At 5pm—weird, but okay.

It was just out of the CBD, on a road he was already pretty familiar with. He dresses up to the highest extent he can; black jeans and a white shirt from when he used to bartend. He brushes the hair out of his eyes, and it flops right back. Note: get haircut soon.

He exhales, eyes closing, and physically jumps a few times to chase away the usual nerves he gets before an interview. He rummages around for his leather jacket and carries it over his arm, gives Red a pat goodbye before picking up his keys and heading out the door.

The drive there is relatively quick, and he passes the time by listening to whatever fancies him through his crappy car speakers. As much as he wants something of his to be playing on the radio, he hates the idea of falling into 'what's hot' just for the perks. If any of his music is going to be playing, he wants it to be his and _only_ his.

_That's it Keith, with an outlook like that the offers will just come rolling in._

He checks Matt's scribble again and double-double checks on Google Maps, and soon he's coming up to the establishment. Not an office building, per say, but more like those dentist offices you would visit as a kid and grow confused because it just looked like someone's house. It's a nice house, though.

He follows the sign leading out the back to a small parking lot, and sees only two other cars around. Radio off, keys out, and he sits there giving himself another moment to recollect every tip he's been given about handling interviews. Stepping out, gravel crunching under his feet, he walks back to the front of the house, and notices their sign advertisement reads in perfect cursive ' _Castle Limousine Rentals_ '. Alright, then.

Front door opening to reveal a crisp white room, sleek and modern. A woman sits behind a desk as he enters, and she looks up with a smile and a greeting that somehow manages to settle his nerves slightly.

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” Her top reads 'Shay' stitched above the pocket.

Keith clears away the clog in his throat quickly. “Um, right. Interview. Uh, I have an interview, with... Allura?” _Smooth_. _You're hired._

“Ah,” she's still smiling and begins to flip through a file. Her short dark her is tucked behind one ear, displaying her piercings. “Mr Kogane, was it?” He nods. “Excellent. Allura will be ready for you in just a moment. Have a seat in the meantime. There's also some water just through there.”

“Th-thanks.”

“No worries.”

On shaky legs, he makes his way into the adjacent room, sitting down slowly on a pure white sofa that probably costs more than his entire life. A few minutes pass and he's regretting not getting a cup of water before he sat down. _Shit, if I get some now it'll be awkward, won't it? Shit, fuck, dammit, why does my mouth have to get so damn dry—_

And then a woman, who's hair alone is probably _also_ worth more than Keith's life, steps around the door frame and speaks sweetly.

“Keith Kogane? Thank you for coming by on such short notice.”

He stands up too quickly, head spinning. “No problem. And thank you for trusting Hunk's judgement.”

She laughs, tilting her head. “Well then, follow me.”

He scrambles after her down the hall, coming up to an office that isn't as modern as the rest of the place, but still nice with Victorian wallpaper and a working fireplace in the corner. He takes a seat opposite her on the two couches, and straightens out his shirt when it bunches. Allura has a clipboard in hand, _and when did she get that, what—_

“So, you know Hunk, yes?”

“We have a mutual friend.”

“I see,” she ticks something off. “And what times are you available to work at this point in time?”

Keith doesn't have to think about that. “Whenever. I do freelance work in my own time, and that's it for now.”

“Good, that's what we like to hear.” She smiles again, and Keith feels like he doesn't deserve to see something so beautiful. “So, I'm correct to assume Hunk, or his friend as you mentioned, has told you the basics of the job?”

“Ah, yep, yes,” he stammers slightly, trying to come off as suave as possible. “I'll be honest, it's not something I've ever thought about doing.”

She waves him off, expression understanding. “But I need confirmation that we won't be having any problems here, yes? I pride myself in maintaining a safe and respectful environment, so any doubts you might have about this job I need to be told now, you know?”

“No, yes—I know,” Keith insists, feeling like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. “I have no problems with this kind of work. I suppose I wouldn't be here if I did, right?”

“I suppose not,” she eyes him for a moment before ticking something else off. Keith is desperate to peek at it.

“Matt said to think of it like 'Driving Miss Daisy',” Keith offers, breathing out a nervous laugh.

Allura's mouth quirks slightly. Keith counts it as a win.

“So, to sum up what it is you'll be doing here: providing discreet to and from driving assistance for your assigned escort. Sometimes, acting as security is necessary when it comes to the more... 'passionate' clients,” Keith questions the quotation marks briefly, “Don't think 'guns and holsters' security, just more like, a 'big brother' type.”

Allura's choice of words continue to irk Keith's panic, only mildly. But he lets it slide for now and decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. God, he needs money so bad. He throws her a wobbly smile.

“Now, I'll be taking all of your details shortly as we go over the books and I'll need your signing off for some documents, and I'll run by your hours and rates before your first shift, alright?” Keith nods again. “Can I ask if you can start as soon as Wednesday?”

“That's fine.”

“Good,” another tick. “Also, you'll be needing to purchase a suit if you do not already own one. I can confirm now, most of your shifts will presume during the day, with some exceptions. Ranging between four to eight hours, depending on how many clients will be on his schedule for the day.”

Keith pauses. “His?”

“Lance Álvarez, your assigned partner,” her smiles turns fond, like a distant memory. “He's quite the character—you'll see when you meet him come Wednesday.”

Keith exhales, an irrational fear bubbling up inside him imagining _that_ introduction going down. _Dammit, he's not royalty or something, he's just an ordinary dude. A dude people pay hundreds of dollars to have sex with. It's cool. Totally cool. Intimidating? Pfft, no way._

“I must confide in you, though, that Lance...” she purses her lips; Keith waits, frowning. “He's known for being as much a twenty-seven year old trouble-maker can be. Not with clients, but with his drivers. I would chastise him more for it, but he's my golden boy. Brings in almost half our business.”

 _Half?_ “Half?” _Jesus_.

“Yes,” she sighs, “So, please, please Keith, I need you to last, okay? Can you promise me that?”

Keith suddenly feels like he'd be disappointing Mother Theresa herself by saying 'no' to that. There's a knock on her door before he can answer, and Allura is granting them entrance, a man with shoulders as wide as the frame stepping inside when Keith turns to watch. His smile is kind, and he's definitely attractive. _Is this Lance?_

“Good evening, Hunk,” Allura greets. _Not Lance, then._

“Miss Allura,” Hunk nods, his eyes landing on Keith, teeth slowly showing. “This the new meat?”

“Hunk, this is Lance's new driver, Keith. Keith, this is our agency's top driver who we absolutely do not deserve, Hunk,” Allura gestures between them.

Keith holds out his hand, eyes bugging out when Hunk's own almost devours his. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Hunk winks. “I hope you're ready for this job. I've known Lance for years—he'll keep you busy for sure.”

“Oh,” Keith raises an eyebrow. “Can I ask why you don't drive him?”

Hunk shrugs. “Different schedules. I'm only free at night. He has daytime clients, mostly.”

God, the more he hears about this guy, Keith could feel those nerves coming back. From what Allura has... mentioned, so far, he's curious why so many drivers have hauled ass and flown the coop. Keith prides himself on being able to handle dickish characters, but somehow the knowledge of someone like Hunk being friends with Lance assures him it can't be that bad, really.

“I just wanted to run Saturday by you again. Shay and I will be gone for the day, but if you _do_ need either of us—”

“Hunk,” Allura stands up to walk to her desk. “We'll be fine here. You two have fun, alright?”

“Alright, cool,” Hunk begins to leave, waving at them both. “Hope to see you again, Keith. Don't let Lance push you around too much.” And then he's gone.

Keith turns to Allura, not able to chase away the frown now. She smiles sweetly in return before reclining in her chair.

“So, let's get you all set up now, shall we?”

 

/ / /

 

“ _So how'd it go? Tell me everything!”_

Keith continues running his free hand through the racks of suits as Pidge talks his ear off periodically. After his interview ended and he'd driven back home, he had realised he did not, in fact, own a suit. So hence his reason to be shopping for one now. It'll be going on credit when he goes to pay, though, definitely.

“It went. I start tomorrow and I need to find a suit before I go in again.”

“ _Keith? Shopping for formal attire? Already leaving us peasants to go hang out with the fat cats, huh?”_

“And that's _exactly_ why I didn't invite you.” He smirks, knowing full well Pidge can sense it through the phone.

“ _That aside, I am super thrilled for you! Matt will be taking all the credit for this, just FYI.”_

“I know,” Keith's eyes land on a particularly nice black suit and asks a worker nearby for his size, smiling and thanking her when she brings it over. “Okay, I'm trying one on now. I need your opinion on it.”

“ _Oh, so you_ do _need my help?”_

“Just, ugh,” Keith squeezes into a stall, thanking the heavens it has a flattering light inside. He runs a hand through his hair, instantly glad he had the wits to book time for a haircut today. “I'm not good with this stuff, you know that. I'll snap a pic and send it in a second, okay?”

“ _Sure thing, Mr. Bond,”_ mirth lingers in Pidge's tone.

He undresses quickly, never once been a fan of how changing in public (or, semi-public) makes him feel squeamish. He struggles with the tie for a moment, finally achieving some sort of knot and looking himself over in the mirror. It's reasonable, so he takes a photo and sends it to Pidge.

“ _Ooooh, nice. Very 'Men in Black'. All you need now are some shades.”_

“Not happening.”

“ _Pity.”_

He checks himself over a few more times, turning and angling, and very briefly he admires how it shapes his ass. _Not bad Kogane, considering you're diet is primarily booze and pop-tarts._ He changes back, making sure to listen to Pidge's latest story about blowing something up, and once he's done he thanks the woman again and heads over to the counter to pay.

“ _So, you reckon you'll impress your escort? Sweep them off their feet?”_

“Ha,” he huffs, “My boss, Allura, said he has a record of flying through drivers faster than me and rejection letters.”

“ _Oh really? And it's a he? I'm curious to meet him now.”_

He can hear her wagging eyebrows from here. “ _You_ stay away,” he whispers back, smiling flippantly at the man behind the counter who's currently shooting him weird glances. He pays and leaves the store quickly, and makes a last minute decision to buy a McFlurry on the way home because why the McFuck not?

_“Ah, shit, Matt's got boxes of shit to bring up from the car. I gotta go help him.”_

“Alright, talk later,” Keith says, vaguely hearing her shout back _'I'll need updates tomorrow!'_ and sliding into the drivers seat and hanging up the suit carefully. _Finally, those once useless hooks are actually getting some use._

He spends the drive home wondering—for probably the fifth time—what his escort will be like. He thinks of 'Pretty Woman' but shakes the idea away. This is not a rom-com. This is just a job, plain and simple. It'll be just like any other position he's worked in, only... it won't be. He looks to his suit quickly then back to the road.

 _This is it_ , he thinks, _the final frontier._

 

/ / /

 

Come Wednesday morning, Keith has the jitters.

 _Ridiculous, you already_ have _the job. What the fuck are you worried about—_

His phone goes off: a text from Pidge wishing him good luck on his first day. He ignores the second half telling him to snap some pics of the guy to show her later. He takes one last look in the mirror and check off his mental list:

Suit? On.

Hair? Cut. (Somewhat.)

Breakfast burrito? To go.

He wishes he could ride his motorcycle to work, but risking scuffing up his suit is a no-go. He's glad it's only a 10 minute drive, as well, because gas is fucking crazy expensive when it wants to be. He hasn't landed a record deal _yet_.

He greets Shay more confidently this time when he arrives, and she too wishes him the best on his first day. He nods, making his way down to Allura's office and knocking twice. She's on the phone but flicks her wrist to usher him inside. He doesn't know where to sit this time, so he settles with leaning against the fireplace to wait.

Allura hangs up, lets out a sigh, and sends him a smile. “Good morning, Keith.”

“Morning,” he jumps into gear and steps over to her.

“Now,” she clasps her hands and rests them in front of her. “I hope you're ready for a day full of not much at all.”

...What? “Huh?” He replies eloquently.

“Hunk turns to reading or meditating when he's on the job,” Allura continues rather unhelpfully. “You'll be working long hours, and eighty percent of the time it'll be sitting around and waiting for clients to be done. I suggest you look for something to busy yourself with—boredom is a fickle thing.”

“Oh.” He hadn't even thought about that, really. But... “I... I write songs, actually. I'm working on stuff now, so...”

“Oh, how lovely,” Allura smiles, eyes wide. “I'd love to hear something sometime.”

Keith is sure she's just being polite—has probably heard a million and one sob stories from people who come through here like clockwork. So he just smiles back, for now, and let's her discuss his rates and when the payments go through.

“So,” she hands him a manilla folder, “Here are all of Lance's clients bookings. He mostly deals with regulars who pay in advance. Sometimes a newbie will phone up, and I'll make sure to give you at least two days notice. Any cancellations must be made at least twenty-four hours before a session, and they must go through me. Weekend shifts are rare, but we'll provide you with double rates. With me so far?”

Keith looks up from the files. “Yeah, yes.”

“Good,” she stands and begins to arrange her hair into a bun. “So, you'll drive Lance in a company car you will take ownership of for the duration of your employment. Locations vary from either the clients house to pre-booked hotels—no less than four stars. Anything else must be run by me as well. You will walk with Lance until said client is made aware of your presence. Assertion is key, and protecting my workers is number one. You intervene when necessary, okay? Whether the client is intoxicated or on edge or acting aggressively—you step in and remove Lance from the premises, got it?”

“Yes,” _Jesus, what has he gotten himself into?_

She smiles again, pugnacious guise gone like _that_. “Don't worry too much, though. It doesn't happen often.”

“Sure,” Keith inhales, shifting on his feet. There are dozens of clients in the folder. A schedule rests open at the front, indicating he has to make 3 stops today. Most of them seem to be located in the high-rent suburbs, which isn't surprising.

There's another knock at the door, but Keith doesn't even register the noise until Allura is speaking again.

“Ah, Lance, sweetheart,” Keith freezes, suddenly not at all ready to turn around. “I'd like for you to properly meet Keith, your new driver.”

That's his cue to introduce himself, but for some reason his legs aren't listening to him. _Fuck, fuck, dammit, remember he's just a normal guy. All of this is perfectly normal._ He blows out some air, mouth a touch dry, and pivots to face him with a smile he's sure must look slightly constipated.

And, shit.

Well then.

He can suddenly see why people are paying hundreds of dollars for this guy's time.

Lance is dressed casually, but God, how is it a simple blue shirt and tight black pants can look _so good?_ His short hair looks soft to the touch, with legs that go on forever and eyelashes so thick he can see them from here. And when Lance smiles, Keith is sure it's the first time he's ever thought of teeth being stupidly pretty. He clicks his mouth shut when he realises it's fallen open, and raises and hand in greeting, prying it's not as sweaty as it feels.

But if it is, Lance doesn't comment on it when they shake hands, and the smile on his faces doesn't waver.

_Fuck, he's soft. How can hands be that soft—?_

“So, Keith,” Lance sits at the edge of Allura's desk, his smile turning to a smirk. “You ready to have some fun today?”

“Lance,” Allura smacks him softly with a rolled up newspaper. “Play nice. I like Keith, so I want him to stick around, you hear?”

Keith feels his body flush slightly from the praise, but his eyes haven't left Lance's yet. He feels suddenly overdressed in this suit now, but Lance hasn't looked away from him either. Keith lets the small spark of pride in his chest stay lit for a moment, then it fizzles out when Lance finally turns his gaze away.

“I'll be good,” he promises, in a tone that suggests otherwise. Allura's eyes narrow, but she says nothing else. Keith realises he still hasn't said anything.

“Keith,” he says stupidly, and they both turn to him questioningly. He clears his throat quickly. “Uh, it's, nice to meet you, Lance. I'll do my best to follow Allura's guidance to assure your safety.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow, watching him closely. “You partake in some sort of fight club? Think you're tough enough to take down a guy twice your size, Keith?”

Keith blinks, slowly. “Uh, I go to the gym sometimes...”

“Hmm,” Lance appears to be biting his cheek. “Eh, maybe you'll surprise me.”

Keith frowns. “I... hope so.”

“Alright,” he stands up, patting Keith's shoulder before heading for the door. “You coming?”

Keith looks at Allura one last time, and she sends him a thumbs-up. Keith breathes deeply and follows Lance out the room. They stop in front of a sleek black car out the back. Keith moves to open the door for Lance, but thinks different of it.

_The man knows how to get into a car, idiot._

So he jogs around to the drivers seat, glancing through his schedule again quickly to memorise the first client's address. He starts up the car and pulls out onto the road, suddenly unsure of what to talk about. Lance, in the backseat, fills the silence after a couple of minutes.

“You ever had a job like this before, Keith?”

“Um,” he shifts once, adjusting the mirror as he answers. “No. I'm trying to become a professional musician, as you can see I'm not quite there yet, so for now I just need to pay rent.” He's not sure why he said that—Lance wouldn't care about his broken childhood dream, right?.

But Lance surprises him by throwing an honest smile to the mirror. “That's chill. I've been there.”

Keith's brows rise. “You sing?”

“Hmm?” Lance purses his lips thoughtfully, his gaze resting on the scenery beyond the window. “No. No singing. But...”

Whatever had been on the tip of his tongue goes unsaid, and Keith learns to not push his luck. So he follows the route laid out for him on the Google Maps he's set up for a while, strumming his fingers subconsciously on the wheel. He glances at Lance again and clears his throat once more.

“So, should we try to get to know each other... or... something?" 

Lance turns his head back, this fluid motion that has Keith swallowing without a reason too.

“What would you like to know?” He almost purrs.

And what the _hell_ is that voice? It's illegal, surely. Keith very much feels way out of his depth right now. What _does_ he want to know? Start easy, he guesses.

“What do you like to do when you're not..." a pause, "Working.” He finishes lamely.

“Well, I like long walks on the beach; doing the crossword on lazy Sunday mornings,” Lance lists off, grinning when Keith rolls his eyes in turn. “What about you?”

“That wasn't much of an answer,” Keith huffs, but lets it slide. “And me? I'm either babysitting for my neighbour or arguing with my friend Pidge over the benefits of going off the grid.”

Lance emits a quiet laugh, and Keith pats himself on the back for making that happen. He lets the comfortable silence settle, since they're almost to their first destination for the day. Soon he pulls them up to a hotel, a fancy one if the water fountain the size of his living room out the front is anything to go by.

Valet parking takes care of the car for the two hours this client has booked in. Lance tells him he has a regular room (the penthouse) and during the ride up the elevator Keith can't help but fuel his curiosity.

“So this guy makes his bookings under the alias Zarkon?” Keith laughs as he reads through his file. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“Anonymity,” Lance shrugs, waving a finger until it lands back on himself, “Big time CEO wants to keep his dirty little secret from his wife.”

“Damn,” Keith whistles, “How many of your clients are married?”

“A handful. Most of them are residents of Narnia, you understand.”

“Right.”

“I'm not judging. Although, they do tend to be more... _adventurous,_ compared to my other clients.”

“Okay.”

“Like I'm talking _seriously_ weird shit. These men have repressed everything for _so long_ —”

“Yep, uh,” Keith thanks the lord when they reach the right floor. “Alright, let's go, chop chop.”

The hallway leading down to the penthouse is covered by a deep red carpet with gold patterns twisting through it. Art hangs on the walls, and they're not prints, they're the _real deal_. That's how Keith knows this place is somewhere he'd never be able to afford to stay. He walks the last few steps quicker than Lance so he can knock for him, arching his back to make himself look as tall as possible.

It's fruitless, he knows, especially when the knock is answered and it opens to reveal a guy Keith could swear is a stunt double for the Terminator. His dark hair is slicked back and a scar runs across the underside of his left eye, and when he speaks Keith finds his _own_ voice crawling back down his throat instinctively.

“I don't know you,” Zarkon eyes him up and down.

“This is Keith, it's his first day,” Lance rests his arm on Keith's shoulder, but it sadly does nothing to help quell his desire to turn tail and run.

 _No, Keith. You've got a damn job to do, so do the_ fuck _out of it._

“Yes, I'm Lance's new driver,” his voice doesn't come out shaky —thank god. “I guess, if things just continue as they usually do, we won't have any problems here.”

“I've heard that before,” Zarkon says, completely monotone. Keith doesn't get a chance to really decipher what the hell that means, because Lance is stepping forward, a hand running up Zarkon's chest as he purrs out:

“C'mon, you don't want to waste any more time, do you?”

Keith feels his body flush, startled by the quick change in attitudes—like a switch. He wonders how much acting goes into this kind of job—or if Lance actually enjoys the work. Considering he's only known the guy for half an hour, it's not like Keith can have any kind of opinion on the whole thing. He watches Zarkon, gauging his expression through all of this.

His face remains passive, although a hand does creep around to rest on Lance's left ass-cheek. Keith promptly looks away.

“So, I'll just... be downstairs,” Keith backs away, not knowing if he should wait for a reply.

Lance doesn't spare him a glance, muttering a short, “Sure,” as his hands try and fail to pull Zarkon's large frame inside the room by the belt loops on his trousers. Zarkon sends Keith one last hard look, and then the door is closing after them.

“I'll see you at twelve, then,” Keith calls out pathetically before it clicks shut.

 

/ / /

 

Keith is suddenly glad for the heads up Allura gave him about bringing a hobby to work, because this whole waiting around business as Lance finishes up with his client? Total snooze fest.

It's a good thing he's able to write songs wherever, because he's sure he's going to be doing a lot of it from now on. But, he's hoping it can push him more to finish up the EP he's working towards.

After the first hour passes by as he waits down in the lobby, he spends the remaining hour texting Pidge instead (he thinks he'll be doing more of that, too). She entertains him by sending him a copious amount of memes, as well as a link to a Youtube video of Pretty Woman. He doesn't dignify her with a response to that message.

It was 5 minutes until Lance is supposed to be done, and he spends them looking around the lobby with mild interest. A security guard stands by the entrance, and Keith is sure he's been looking over at Keith like clockwork. Understandable, though, because _what the hell is this 27 year old guy in a suit doing waiting down here for 2 hours?_ He hopes the next client isn't at another hotel. Or at least, Keith can spend his time in the car to avoid everyone's prying stares.

He rests his head back on the plush sofa he's sitting on and follows the patterns on the ceiling, getting so caught up he doesn't even notice Lance stepping out of the elevator and walking over to him with a curious expression.

“You alive over there?”

Keith startles, clearing his throat and standing. Lance's appearance hasn't changed much, although his hair seems a smidge messier than when he last saw him. Again, Keith wonders how Lance can go through as many as 4 clients in a day—surely he's faking half of these sessions, right?

“Ha,” Keith says, because he's coming to realise that his brain scrambles somewhat around this guy. So he begins walking, Lance following 2 steps behind, and then the staff are calling his car around for them and they're sliding in, seatbelts buckled and an address for client number 2 displaying on his phone screen.

“So are a lot of your sessions two hours?” Keith asks, because he's both genuinely curious and impressed with Lance's stamina.

“They're rare,” Lance says, settling back comfortably on the leather seat, “Zarkon is a millionaire, no surprises there. If people want more of my time, it'll cost them. Otherwise, an hour is usually the average.”

“I see,” Keith blinks, taking in the information with concealed awe.

Lance sends him a smile in the mirror, and Keith swallows.

It was going to be a long day.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://hollywhood.tumblr.com) anytime, I love to chat! :) x


	2. Man About Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith continues to meet more of Lance's clients, but Lance himself still remains a mystery.

If you had told Keith a week ago that he would be spending his days driving around an incredibly attractive and expensive prostitute, he probably would've been like, _“Well, a gig's a gig.”_

Except now that he actually _is_ spending his days driving around an incredibly attractive and expensive prostitute his only constant thoughts so far have been, _“Holy shit.”_

It's like a whole other world, that's for sure. Every time he drops Lance off at a high ranking hotel, or park outside the front of some villa that's half constructed with glass, he feels like he's suddenly stepped onto a Martin Scorsese film set. Money, dude. It was all about the money.

The first week flew by relatively quickly, and Keith realised after flipping through the folder that they hadn't even gotten through _half_ of Lance's clients yet. Impressive, or scary? A mixture of both, probably.

After Zarkon, none of his other clients really posed much of an issue—in terms of size, that is (Zarkon had that solely locked down). Roughly 90% of Lance's clients were male; most of them successful, middle aged businessman—again, with Lance's demanding price Keith is sure he'd have to sell his own soul just to afford 2 hours of his time.

The few women on Lance's schedule always tended to surprise him. Lance's charm changed drastically when he met with them, as well as his clothes. Gone was the well-dressed, over-confident man, and left behind was the persona of a shy, virgin college graduate that these women loved to dominate. Go figure—these women could pay him to be anything.

Allura was also steadily becoming his most favourite boss ever. She never stalled things out; always to the point, never sugar coated anything, and was so honestly efficient with making sure Keith never had to go out of his way to accommodate any new bookings added to his schedule.

By her advice he and Lance had exchanged numbers the second day in case anything were to go haywire while Lance was with a client. But so far, the only texts he's been receiving from him have been in the morning where Lance would request a sugary caffeine concoction that had Keith almost flushing with embarrassment when he ordered it at the scratchy drive-thru speaker.

After their first day together, Lance hadn't revealed much in terms of advancing their personal relationship, but Keith supposed that came with the job. Keith wasn't hired to become Lance's new best buddy for life, so he decided to let it take it's own course for now. Lance and Hunk were obviously close, though, and suddenly Keith found himself wondering how they came about as friends.

He had found out through an offhand comment from Lance that Hunk and Shay were together—the comment being that Lance was positively thriving about being Hunk's best man for their wedding. Keith made a mental note to congratulate the couple later.

Pidge and Matt, of course, hadn't stopped pestering him for information. Again, Keith wonders how two people as smart as they are, are so hopelessly bad at trying to casually ring information out of someone. Bulls in a China shop, those two.

“Pidge, honestly, there's not much to say other than the basics,” Keith repeats as Pidge hangs off his every word, eyes sparkling behind her glasses.

She sighs dramatically and flops back onto the couch with a huff. “Seriously? You're not going to spill anything? This is the coolest job you've _ever_ had and you really wouldn't tell me if one of Lance's clients was Mr. Six?”

“No.”

“How about Gerald Ford?”

“ _No_.”

“Betty White?”

“Don't bring Betty into this.”

“Fine,” she gets up to refill her glass with more Root Beer. For once, Keith's fridge _actually_ contains _actual_ food. Mind you, it was after Pidge had woken him up at 7am to drag him to the nearest Whole Foods come pay day (“Whole Foods? I'm not made of money _yet_ , Pidge.”)

“I'm with Pidge on this one, buddy,” Matt chides, kicking his feet up. “You gotta give us _something_.”

Keith jabs Matt's shin lightly. “Why can't you ask Hunk?”

“It'd feel weird; like asking a puppy to help you rob a bank,” Matt laughs into his beer.

Keith shoots him a look, but debates briefly that there's no _real_ backlash for actually giving them _some_ gossip. The greedy bastards.

(Oh, that's what he forgot to add—the Holt's diet was Redbull, Redvines, and _gossip_. It's like mixing every kind of gas available at the station together: it only creates trouble.)

Although any name mentions were off limits for obvious reasons (Allura had stressed that more than enough). It was almost... _exciting_ , in a really bizarre, underbelly kind of way. Maybe he _should_ go out and buy some cool shades to wear on the job.

When Pidge comes back, she plops herself down with determination, but hides her eagerness by turning the TV on. The channel comes to life and pretty soon an old episode of Jeopardy brightens up the room. (Matt's distracted already, inching closer).

“Okay, so there's no one... famous,” Keith starts listing them off, and Pidge turns to watch him. “There _is_ a big boss CEO, a retired football player, and a handful of Wall Street guys that scored big at the right time.”

Matt whistles but doesn't tear his eyes away as he periodically yells at the TV set.

Pidge's lips shoot upwards into a devilish grin. Keith figures she's satisfied for a while to come. “Man, it's like being friends with the Feds. Learning all these secrets, like the eighth wonder.”

He takes a swing of his drink. “It's really not.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh come on!” Matt groans at the contestant on screen, rubbing at an eye. “It's 'Leave It To Beaver'! Man, why hasn't Jeopardy answered any of my application videos? I'd be the pinnacle of perfection.”

“Ah, Matt,” Keith pats his back condescendingly. “The world's just not ready for you yet.”

 

/ / /

 

Thursday morning Keith marches his way upstairs to his super, knocking on the door with prideful force. When it swings open to reveal his disgruntled landlord, eyes hard and mouth opening to—presumably—remind Keith about his rent, Keith slaps the wad of cash into the guy's hand before smirking and walking away. Cool guys never look at explosions.

He whistles as he makes his way downstairs to the car-park, keys swinging on his index finger. A beep comes through on his phone, and he glances it briefly to catch Lance's ridiculous order of coffee for the day. Engine revving, he pulls out and heads towards the nearest Starbucks with no embarrassment what-so-ever this time.

Today was gonna be a good day.

Coffee purchased and folder of rich people Lance is scheduled to visit today? Good to go.

Said mysterious and beautiful prostitute? Still needed to complete his check list.

He sends away a text to Lance that he's almost to his flat. He receives a simple 'kk' in return. God, he didn't know people still _used_ that. Nevertheless he smiles, and not 10 minutes later he's pulling up to Lance's apartment building in one of the nicer suburbs in town. He gets out to press the buzzer, getting Lance's reply in rushed panic.

The main entrance swings open and Lance beams at him when he steps out, and Keith is mildly surprised by the reaction, but then it fizzles away when Lance makes grabby hands for his coffee. Keith passes it to him with an eyeroll.

“Morning,” Keith stares pointedly, expecting at least something in return.

Lance seems to down almost half of his drink before its lowered again, and his look turns satisfied. “Ah, morning. Thanks for this.”

Keith nods as they walk back to his car. He takes note in Lance's appearance today; ripped jeans, Hollister jumper, a perfume smelling oddly of pineapple.

Since his first day, Keith had started to guess what Lance's clients might be like based on how the other man looks and dresses before he meets them. It's an interesting game. Like every client is an audition; playing new roles to get the part (although he would argue the part is most definitely already Lance's).

If Keith was being honest with himself, Lance always looks good. It kind of pissed him off, just a little, that someone could master all of these different persona’s so effortlessly, while Keith still struggled every damn day just playing himself.

Lance takes his usual seat in the back and begins humming a song under his breath. Keith doesn't recognise it, but feels too embarrassed to ask. So he types in the first address for the day on the GPS and does a 180 on the road.

“Do anything fun last night?”

It takes Keith a few extra seconds to realise Lance is asking _him_ the question. _Idiot—you're the only other person here._ He blanks for a moment, and then he answers, “Had some friends over. Celebrated over myself not being evicted and what-not.”

“What?” Lance moves forward, seatbelt holding him back. “You were that close? Dude, you never said.”

“Yeah well,” Keith shrugs, an uncomfortable itch making its way through his chest. “It's the simple things in life, I guess.”

Lance makes a small noise Keith can't quite decipher. “Well, um, I'm glad you weren't. Evicted, I mean.” He's quiet for a bit, and Keith isn't sure if he should start up another topic to break the slightly awkward silence.

But then Lance asks, “You enjoying the job so far?”

Keith exhales lowly, thankful for the change of discussion. “Uh, yeah. Allura's great, honestly. It was basically a god-send when Matt found it through Hunk.”

“Oh, so that's how you got it,” Lance muses, catching Keith's gaze in the mirror. He smiles wickedly. “What about me?”

Keith clears his throat, shifting. _Shit, okay Keith, you can do this._ “What _about_ you?”

Lance's smile falters for one short moment. His eyes narrow challengingly. “Keith, my man, you can be honest with me. No need to hide anything.” He throws Keith a wink.

Keith barks out a laugh. Because Keith? Keith isn't the one hiding everything here. That's all Lance. “You seem like a decent guy. Can't say much in favour of the drinks you order, though.”

Lance feigns hurt. “Well I'm sorry I like to actually _treat_ my taste buds. I bet you're a black coffee kind of guy, am I right? No sugar at all.”

Keith doesn't bother to dignify him with a response. Lance grins anyway.

“Totally called it.” Lance taps his foot near Keith's arm, distracting him momentarily. “Too cool for school; Mr. I-Thrive-In-The-Shadows-Of-Darkness.”

“I'm actually lactose intolerant,” Keith says, flicking up the indicator to turn right. “And instant was basically all I could afford for years.”

It turns quiet for a while, and Keith wonders again why he's always spewing out details of his past sufferings like he's Oliver Twist reincarnate. He checks the mirror and finds Lance looking right at him, biting his lip.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed,” Lance laughs quietly. “Sometimes I just word ramble, and make up story backgrounds for people I meet. My weird creative outlet.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow, but knows Lance didn't mean any harm. He shrugs. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not,” Lance sighs.

“Really, Lance, don't worry about it.”

“I'll make it up to you, somehow,” he blows some air out dramatically, turning his attention to the window.

Keith turns the radio on, just for something to do. He finds a station that's playing a song he remembers clearly as a kid and leaves it there, nostalgia acting up. Pretty soon he starts tapping along, humming the lyrics under his breath, head bobbing occasionally. Then he can feel eyes on him.

“ _Something's got me reeling_ ,” Lance sings along, head lolling back with a smile.

“ _Stopped me from believing_ ,” Keith continues.

“ _Turn me around again_ ,” Lance mimes playing the guitar, making Keith want to join in. “ _Said that we can do it..._ ”

“ _Y'know I want to do it again_ ,” they finish together as Lance performs a sick air rift. Keith laughs while Lance beams happily at him.

“You definitely can sing, I'll give you that,” Lance says.

Keith isn't sure why the compliment affects him so much, but he greets the warmth greedily.

A few songs later they're pulling up in front of a town house; three stories high, with its own array of plants and shrubs pouring out from the roof and balconies, almost shrouding the place into a sanctuary of calm. Another client Keith hasn't met; Nyma, a successful businesswoman, mid-thirties.

They walk up to the gate and Lance types in the security code, greeting the housekeeper as they make their way inside the first floor. Keith feels instantly out of place, never having seen a home as pearly white as this; mahogany banisters and marble floors. He felt like breathing here would cost him money. Lance walks further into the house and sits himself on a daybed, gesturing to Keith that he can sit as well.

Keith shakes his head and decides to stand. He's new, after all. “So, she knows you're here?”

Lance nods. “Yeah. She's a busy woman, but her timing is always on the dot. She'll be down in a minute.”

Keith watches the housekeeper exit another room with a load of laundry, going about her day like Keith and Lance weren't even there. Keith wonders how much she knows. Probably a lot—housekeepers know everything, according to every movie he's ever seen. The house phone resting against the wall rings thrice until the housekeeper answers it, and then she sends Keith a smile.

“Ms Sodhi will be right down,” she says before retreating once again.

A few moments later Keith hears someone moving down the stairs, high heels clicking confidently with every step. Keith straightens up instinctively, like royalty was coming down to greet them. And maybe it was? A figure rounds the corner and graces them both with a charming smile as her eyes land on Keith.

“Ah, a new driver I see,” she laughs delicately, while the rest of her body remains put together like a stone carving. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, brown eyes deep and alluring, her pencil skirt acting like a second skin.

“Keith's been doing great so far,” Lance winks at her as he stretches on the daybed.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Keith,” she says, her mouth quirking in a way Keith can't quite place. “You're welcome to wait here. I'm sure it's more comfortable than your car.”

“Ah, right, thank you,” he stammers slightly, watching Lance as he finally stands and makes his way over to Nyma. He kisses her cheek in greeting. She laughs again quietly. “Oh, and it's nice to meet you too,” he adds hurriedly.

“So, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, Marion can assist you.” Nyma says lastly before disappearing back up the stairs.

“The housekeeper,” Lance supplies for him, but Keith was sure he'd have figured that out himself eventually. “See you soon, man.”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith waves him goodbye, and instantly regrets it when Lance snorts.

He stands there for a minute, rubbing sweaty hands over his pant pockets, not quite knowing what to do, exactly. He _could_ just relax for an hour—it's tempting, but he knows he should really be working on his songs. So after some searching he finds Marion and lets her know he's just grabbing his stuff from the car and returns to the house again once he's done.

He takes a seat on the daybed where Lance had been before, pulling out his notebook and pen, and flipping it to where he last left off. Not a sound could be heard in the house, and he suddenly feels like he's stepped into another reality.

He tries desperately not to think about what was happening (presumably) two floors up, and begins to write anything down that comes to mind to distract himself. Only 11 minutes have passed when he checks the clock, and so he sighs deeply.

 

/ / /

 

Today happened to be a day where Lance was scheduled to meet with four clients, so Keith strapped himself in for a lot of waiting around.

When Lance had returned from upstairs, exactly one hour later, Keith had to give it to Nyma that she was definitely someone he aspired to be in terms of professionalism. Lance was blowing some bubblegum Keith hadn't seem him with before, the complete essence of nonchalance as he made his way back out to the car with a nod. Keith debated saying goodbye to his host, but figured it best to follow Lance's lead and closed the front door behind him awkwardly as he left.

Lance's next client was on the other side of town, so Keith decided to take some of the routes less taken to avoid the lunchtime traffic. On the way there, upon Lance's request, they swung by a convenience store and bought half a dozen energy drinks to help with Lance's stamina.

“Any flavour preference?” Keith asks him before he shifts out of the drivers seat.

“Blue, thanks,” Lance says.

“I love how far we've come in society in that we accept 'blue' as a flavour now.”

“'Cause everyone knows it's the best,” Lance winks at him.

Keith feels himself smile as he shakes his head in exasperation. He tosses the bag back to Lance when he comes back, and immediately Lance is downing half a bottle of the Gatorade as Keith watches with a raised eyebrow.

“How do you do it?” Keith can't help but ask when Lance is done.

“Hmm? Do what?”

Keith clears his throat as he pulls out of the carpark. “Y'know... uh, do a little dance, make a little love... get down two to four times a night?”

Lance snorts a laugh. “Easy there, KC.” He takes another swing of his drink before he says, “Well, I usually don't spill the beans to a guy I haven't even worked with for more than two weeks, but, I guess I can make an exception.”

He leans forward, mouth close to Keith's ear, and Keith can't do anything but let his warm breath ghost over his skin, his back ramrod straight as he waits.

He almost turns too early into the other lane and barely avoids a collision.

He blames Lance's proximity.

Lance chuckles lowly, smugly. “When I was sixteen I sold my soul to Satan in exchange for no refractory period.”

Keith manages a couple of seconds to turn his head and shoot Lance an unimpressed look. Lance laughs louder, this beautiful sound that honestly throws Keith for a loop momentarily. He returns to his seat and lets out a content sigh.

Lance continues, “No, but honestly, it's mostly just a matter of faking it sometimes. Luckily most of my clients know the basics to human anatomy,” Keith snorts respectively at Lance's humour, “So they're aware I'm not always able to reach completion.”

Keith tries not to let that image settle in his mind.

(Hint: he fails.)

“But as long as they're still eagerly lining up to get a chip off this old block, then I'm not too worried about the performance reviews.”

“You're not old,” Keith says, perhaps a touch too offended on Lance's behalf.

“Thanks,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the satisfied smile in his tone.

Lance's second client for the day, a man in his early forties, only sees Lance once a month, always at the same hotel and always in the same room on the first floor (the man was slightly superstitious, according to Lance). There was unfortunately no valet parking there, so Keith finds a spot to park a ways down the street, and he and Lance walk together back up to the hotel.

When they reach the room and the door swings open, the man was dressed in what looked to be a golfing outfit, if Keith had to base it on something. A pair of glasses were perched firmly on his face, and an obvious toupee sat poorly on his head. Keith instantly gets 'creeper' vibes from him, but then again, he blames that assumption on every social representation of these stereotypes.

He sends Lance a look he hopes is close to 'What the fuck?' but Lance waves him off, a simple 'He's harmless, don't worry.'

Keith offers the man a nod. “Keith. Donald, was it?” He thrusts out a hand instinctively. Donald meets him halfway.

“Yes,” Donald's voice sounds nervous, but Keith chalks that up to his jittery personality. Hopefully. “And I guess, welcome to the business. I hope you're enjoying it so far.”

Keith quirks a brow, but doesn't comment. “I'll leave you both to it, then.”

He sends Lance one more questioning look with his eyes, Allura's words about keeping him safe echoing loudly in his mind. Lance just barely rolls his eyes, and assures him silently that he'll be fine. Keith allows himself to trust Lance; after all, he's been doing this much longer. He probably doesn't even _need_ Keith's protection—he seems more than capable.

Keith wouldn't even be offended, he thinks.

“Okay,” he says, finally making his way back down the stairs and out to the car.

He sits himself down, sets an alarm just in case to go back 5 minutes early to wait outside the room, and pulls out his notebook and writes any melodies and lyrics that he thinks might flow together nicely.

 

/ / /

 

Turns out Donald really was just a nervous guy in general, which baffled Keith slightly, leaving him to wonder on the fact that the guy chose to obtain his sex in the most illegal way possible.

(“Some people, sadly, just don't have any game,” Lance says. “Or most of them just dislike the idea of relationships and only prefer the benefits.”

“For Donald, I'd say it's the former,” Keith mumbles as they pull away from the hotel.

“Sadly, I have to agree,” Lance nudges Keith's thigh gently. “I'm hungry, can we pull a drive-thru? I'm _dying_ for a decent cheeseburger.”

Keith grins and hastily makes a left turn. “I know the perfect place.”)

Lunch now consumed and heading towards client number three, they drive more towards the suburban area's of town. They pull up in front of a small home, meant for no more than two people, and once again Keith walks Lance to the door to perform his greetings.

After a few rings the door swings open. Another of the few woman on Lance's schedule; tall, red hair, a two-time triathlon winner, late forties (but you wouldn't think it from looking).

“I'm Rachel, nice to meet you,” she introduces herself, and Keith smiles genuinely back.

“Keith. And you too,” he says. Rachel doesn't come off as someone Keith needs to watch out for, so he leaves them both to it, hearing a happy “Hey, did you bake cookies?” from Lance as he steps inside the house, the door clicking shut behind them.

It's about halfway through the hour when Keith realises, regrettably, that he needs to piss like he consumed the entire Amazon river himself. He doesn't want to intrude on Rachel's time, and _man,_ that would be awkward as hell, but he also knows he can't hold it in if his life depended on it.

He remembers seeing a Starbucks back on the main road, only 3 minutes away, and so he weighs out his options quickly. Eventually, he sends Lance a short text that he'll be gone for 10 minutes and pulls out of Rachel's driveway.

By some miracle, he finds a parking spot close by—one of those ones with the ridiculous time limit that no one ever follows through with. But he's eternally grateful now as he pulls the break to the car and practically busts down the front entrance to the cafe. He scans around for the bathroom and almost cries when he sees that tiny little man, like a sign from God.

Just when he's about to push through a hand lands firmly on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. But the bathroom in for paying customers only.”

Keith actually groans out loud. “Seriously?” He turns to eye the worker distastefully. He squints at the nametag. “Steve, buddy, you gotta loosen the reigns a little. Where's your Christmas spirit, huh?”

“Sir, it's April.”

“Either way, it's a month celebrating Jesus one way or another. So, can I piss now?”

Steve sighs. “I'm sorry, but no.”

Keith seethes for a good 6 seconds. Finally he pulls out his wallet. “Fine, what's the sweetest, cheapest drink you got on your ridiculous menu?”

 

/ / /

 

“Oh, sweet. Just what I needed.” Lance preens as he leaves Rachel's home.

Keith hands the frothy, caramel concoction over to Lance with a theatrical wince. “I had to piss. Didn't want to disturb you so I went to Starbucks. Bloody worker there wouldn't let me through unless I bought something.”

Lance gives him a funny look. “Dude, that's way too much trouble to go through. Just call me quickly next time and you can piss inside.”

Keith coughs inwardly. “Uh, no, that's... that's okay.”

Lance eyes him as they walk back to the car, and Keith checks the time on his phone distractedly. _1:47_. Lance's next session isn't until 3. Lance nudges him with his elbow to grab his attention.

“Look, I'm not sure what Allura said to you about professionalism and keeping your distance, but if you gotta piss you gotta piss. Just tell me next time, it's no biggie.” Lance stops and leans against the car door. He winks. “I don't bite.”

Keith would be lying if he said that didn't do something for him. He gives in easily. “Alright, fine.”

Lance beams, this intoxicating smile that curves out the entirety of his face in a beautiful way.

 _Fuck_ , Keith has to look away.

He checks the schedule again for something to do while Lance drinks and then he finds himself doing a double take.

“Wait... your next client is a _couple_?”

Lance nods before he takes another sip. “Yeah. My only one. They're quite nice people, actually. I don't seem them often, but that's probably a good thing because they really like to _go at it_.”

Keith tries not to visualise it.

(He fails, _again._ )

“That's... yeah.” This job is turning out to be more of a learning experience than anything else.

Lance makes a gesture with his hand. “Mind if we swing by my house first? I gotta change, dude. And shower.”

Keith breathes out a short, “Yeah,” running his fingers through his hair and straightening his jacket quickly. “Yeah, let's go.”

 

/ / /

 

He stumbles home that evening, more than ready to kick up his feet and let the mindless chatter of today's sitcom of choice lull him into a gentle sleep. Before he reaches his apartment door his phone beeps, Allura's name flashing on the screen to indicate a text.

_5:12 > (Allura) tomorrow's 3 o'clock changed to 3:30. And if you're free, would you stop by the office on Wed morning for a quick chat? Thanks. A x_

Keith briefly questions the term 'quick chat' and what exactly she could mean by it—he knows he hasn't stepped out of line with the job yet. Perhaps a customer wasn't happy about his presence? He lets it slide for now and replies with an honest ' _No problem, see you then_.'

A door behind him clicks open, and he turns to greet Amalia with a small smile. She jumps slightly when she notices him, but looks relieved.

“Ah, Keith!” She shuffles her purse about for a moment before stepping over to him. “I hate to ask again so soon, but another last minute shift came up, and I—”

“It's fine, Amalia,” he says, waving a hand in an attempt to settle her panic. “My evening was free anyway.”

“Oh,” she sighs in relief, stroking both of his cheeks, her rings leaving trails of cold across his skin. “You are an angel. Thank you so very much. There is Merienda still on the table, and the kids must finish their homework before any TV is allowed.” She steps away and seems to be counting up a list in her head until a final nod is given. “It is a small shift tonight. I hope to be home by nine to put the kids into bed.”

Keith starts to shoo her away good-naturedly. “We'll be fine. I'll see you at nine, then. Have a good night.”

She sighs through a smile. “Okay, okay, I am to disappear. See you soon.” She shouts goodbye to the kids once more and finally trots off down the hall.

Keith lets out a deep breath, shrugging out of his jacket and stepping inside the Velez family home. The food is still set out on the table, parts of each dish missing, but still plentiful. The kids, both seated down in the lounge room at the small table on the carpet, have their work books spread open with numerous loose pages scattered about at their feet.

Sofía, the youngest, notices Keith first once he closes the front door behind himself. “Mr. Keef!” She practically squeals through her minor lisp, jumping up to run over and squeeze Keith's legs.

Keith smiles down at her. He thinks she might be slightly infatuated with him, so he's always mindful on how to act around her. “Hey, Sofia. Hey Tomas,” he nods over to the eldest still sitting by the table.

Tomas waves a hand quickly, head darting back and forth as he seems to be working on some algebra homework. Keith pulls away from Sofia's tiny grasp and can't help but make his way back to the food, stomach grumbling appreciatively. Sofia follows him, though, and attaches herself to his side.

“We haven't seen you around that much Mr. Keef. Where have you been?” She asks innocently, eyes a touch sad.

Keith answers while he piles up a plate with as much rice as humanly consumable. “I actually got a new job. I've been working.”

Sofia jumps up and down excitedly again. “Yay! That's good Mr. Keef! What kind of job?”

He gestures to head back to the lounge room and sits down on the couch, and by now Tomas has looked up expectantly, too. Two sets of innocent eyes, two kids too young to know what exactly it is he does sit in waiting. He shoves some food into his mouth to buy some time.

“Uh, I drive around an important client to his meetings,” he offers. _Oh my god_.

Tomas arches an eyebrow. “All day?”

Keith feels a piece of rice go down the wrong way. “Yeah, he... deals with a lot of clients.” He winces.

“Why can't they just go to him instead?” Tomas pushes, homework now completely forgotten. But luckily Sofia saves him from answering.

“That sounds boring!” She exclaims with huff, eyes rolling. “And he sounds lazy. Why doesn't he walk instead? Mama gets us to walk to school everyday.”

“That's because it's close by, stupid,” Tomas says.

“Hey, that's not nice,” Keith warns him, and Tomas mutters a 'sorry' before finally returning to his work.

Sofia does the same, thankfully, and Keith is relieved he doesn't need to reveal any more on the subject; he knows he's a terrible liar. The kids are still working when he's finished his food, so he draws out his phone to send Pidge off a text asking if she wants him to bring around some food later.

_6:02 > (Pidge) yes pls dude, get burritos. AND, some garlic bread thanks ur amazing gotta run_

He huffs out a laugh and places an order to go for around 9:10. He makes enough small talk to entertain the kids while they finish off their work, and ends up sitting down with Sofia to help her decide on a topic for some English homework.

“We need to write a short story about something we love,” she says to him, frowning down at her paper.

“Well that shouldn't be too hard, you love a lot of things, right?”

She turns to him, eyes bright and wide and chewing on her bottom lip. _Oh, shit, good one Keith. You dug this hole for yourself, now get out of it._

“It doesn't even need to be a person. It could be about a movie, or a book, or a place,” he lists quickly to distract her. He thinks he hears Tomas snicker under his breath.

Sofia seems to perk up a bit. “Well... I do love when mama takes us to the zoo. And the beach! I love collecting shells!”

“Those are both good options, I'm sure whatever you choose will be great,” Keith says, ruffling her hair slightly. It's gotten much longer, the colour of her roots growing out to be much like her mother's. It's such an odd thing... watching someone grow up. He wonders what it might have been like to have any siblings of his own.

Some time passes as the kids finish up on the last of their homework while he packs up dinner and tidies up the kitchen.

“Keith, we're all done,” Tomas tells him as he rummages through the fridge before pouring himself some juice. “I'm gonna watch something in my room,” he smiles at Keith, “Oh, and congrats on your job.”

“Sure, Tomas, and thanks,” Keith smiles back as he watches the boy leave to his room.

“Keef!” Sofia calls out urgently. “Mr. Keef come quick!”

Keith does, jogging back into the lounge where Sofia is clutching at the cushions, a toothy grin on display as she watches him come to a confused stop. “What is it?”

She points to the TV screen. “You gotta start the next Barbie movie with me! I waited two weeks for you!” She pouts dramatically.

He sighs but smiles nonetheless, taking a seat next to her and watching as she selects the 'Play' button on the DVD homescreen. “What one is this about?”

“Barbie is a princess and she swaps places with a girl who lives in the village in the princesses kingdom!”

He nods dramatically along as she talks. “Alright then, let's do this.”

 

/ / /

 

“Pidge, you small gremlin, come get some dinner!”

“Bless you good sir,” she groans as she steps out of her room, as if on autopilot, eyes barely managing to focus on one straight thing. Her long hair was tied up, so Keith could conclude she had been in the middle of a Violet Baudelaire moment. Almost blindly he hands her burrito over to her, and then he's throwing Matt's usual order over to where he's sat at the table. It hits his head, but he hardly notices, instead muttering out a 'thanks dude' and bites into it without deviating from his work at all.

“What's up with you two?” Keith asks, watching with amusement as Pidge shoves the garlic bread into her mouth, no shame at all.

“Dad and I made a breakthrough at the lab,” she mumbles past her food, and then nods over to Matt. “And Matty's really stuck on today's crossword.”

“What?” Keith laughs, eating some garlic bread himself because it's _amazing_.

“Shut up, you know I'm a numbers guy, not a...” Matt trails off, muttering something unintelligible as he scribbles supposed nonsense down on the page.

“What about you hot shot? How was your day?” Pidge nudges him before flopping down onto the couch, legs draped over the back.

He takes a seat too, but not before swiping some more delicious garlic goodness. “Interesting. Sort of. He had four clients today, a whole variety.”

Matt doesn't pay them any attention, but that's fine with Keith. He lets Pidge take full control.

“A variety, huh? Saucy stuff.”

“There was even a couple.”

Pidge almost chokes. “What?” Even Matt glances over for a bit.

“Yeah,” Keith snorts quietly at her shocked expression. “They were nice. When Lance was done they sent him back out with a small care package.”

“What was in the package?”

Keith shrugs. “Lance wouldn't say. Maybe it was an inside joke.”

“Hmm,” Pidge makes herself more comfortable before turning to him again. “Wanna crash here tonight?”

Keith shakes his head. “Nah, it's cool. The kids wore me out. And I gotta go into work early tomorrow. Allura wants to have 'a quick chat'.”

“Ooo, I don't like the sound of those air-quotes.”

“It's probably nothing. But I can still stay and watch a movie or something.”

“Sweet,” Pidge beams, pressing the buttons on the remote at rapid speed until a display appears on screen with thousands of movie titles. “Take your pick. But maybe some kind of thriller?”

She leaves to stock up on more dinner, and after some searching Keith eventually settles for 'The Hitcher', because who doesn't like some gore to go with their thrills?

“Ooo, a classic,” Pidge says when she comes back. “Hey, did Sofia get you to watch anything while you were there?”

“Yeah, the fourth Barbie movie.”

There's silence for a while, then—

“You totally liked it, didn't you?”

Keith shuffles about for a minute. “The songs are catchy.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up, Pidge.”

“Oi, shut up the both of ya's,” Matt barks from where his head is still buried in the crossword. Pidge and Keith can't help but break out into uncontrollable laughter.

 

/ / /

 

Stepping into work the next day, Keith greets Shay with a smile and a coffee, because he likes Shay and she deserves amazing things like caffeine... obviously.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the cardboard cup from him, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast against the white of the styrofoam cup.

“No problem. Is Allura waiting for me?”

She nods as she swallows. “She is. Whenever you're ready.”

“I don't think I could ever be ready to face Allura.”

Shay giggles, and Keith pats himself on the back.

He walks down the familiar hallway, knocking twice, and hearing his boss grant him entrance a moment later. He bought a coffee for her too, just in case. Allura is once again on the phone, a single finger gesturing Keith over to her desk to take a seat. He does, and waits.

“Alright, thank you,” she says finally before hanging up and sending Keith a tired smile. “Good morning, Keith.”

“Morning,” he hands the drink over to her, “Coffee?”

“Oh,” she takes it, looking almost on the verge of grateful tears. “Bless you. You wouldn't believe how many people bring me tea thinking I like it. It's this darn accent, I swear.”

“Really?” He settles back, taking her good mood as a sign to relax. “Well, I'm happy to break the streak, then.”

She smiles, inhaling the scent leisurely before settling her gaze on Keith. “So...”

Keith suddenly rethinks his previous relaxed state. “Uh...”

It's a few moments until her hard stare finally crumbles, smiling so deep some dimples show through. “I can see you fretting—don't worry! I just wanted to say happy two week anniversary, and to ask you how everything has been going?”

 _God, of course it was something as simple as that_. “Right.” He thinks about the past two weeks, and realises he can safely say everything has been going as smoothly as it can. “Good, yeah. No clients have given off any 'trouble' vibes... yet.”

She nods approvingly. “You've met them all by now, I assume?”

Keith is ready to say yes, but remembers. “No, actually... there's still a few left.”

“Hmm,” Allura stands up, walking over to gaze out the window. The morning light illuminates her hair beautifully, picturesque. “I am impressed, though. Lance hasn't spoken one word about you to me.”

Keith doesn't know how to feel about that. “That's... good?”

She turns, face twisting like that was a secret she wasn't meant to tell. She walks back over and flips through a schedule laid out on the table. “Oh, your first client today is an old friend of mine. He's one of Lance's favourites.”

Keith figures this is just small talk, so he doesn't bother to say anything else unless she asks him personally. Luckily, he's partially saved when Shay walks in to hand Allura something to sign off on, and no later after that, Lance arrives, strolling in with a small bounce in his step. He perches on Allura's desk again, kicking his feet up onto the armrest Keith isn't currently occupying, his stance comfortable as he watches Keith.

“Ready for a big day of learning, kid?”

Keith raises a brow. “I'm older than you.”

“Well then, maybe you could teach _me_ something?” Lance winks lewdly.

“Why Mr. Álvarez, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?”

“Enough you two, and get out of my office,” Allura says without looking up from her work, and Keith rolls his eyes at Lance as they leave.

“Nice one, you got us in trouble,” Lance says loudly enough so Allura can still hear.

Keith scoffs, and they walk out to where Keith was still parked at the front of the business, and when Keith walked next to Lance he could smell the bodywash he'd used this morning in the shower, his hair still slightly damp.

“So, Allura says the first guy is a friend of hers. You get along?”

“Yeah,” Lance says as he slides into the backseat. “He's real nice, and a retired Navy SEAL Commander. He's been with me for years, now.”

“I see.”

This might honestly be one of the most diverse jobs Keith's ever had. He's met more interesting people by just driving Lance around than he ever did bartending. And you meet _a lot_ of people bartending.

It turns into one of the longer drives Keith's done so far for Lance, working their way up through the hills, the houses becoming more lavishing as they go, and Keith ends up winding down the windows to welcome in the fresh smell of pine, taking full advantage of the empty roads to slow down and admire when he can.

Lance rests comfortably in the back, eventually throwing on some shades when the sun's glare proves to be too much. Keith leaves the radio off, just wanting to listen to nothing but the silence of the trees, the gentle howl of the dewy wind.

“Did you want to get breakfast before we get there?”

Lance shakes his head, knowing Keith was watching in the rearview mirror. “Nah, I'll get fed plenty while I'm there. I'm sure you'll be welcome to, as well.”

Finally, after taking a few of the lesser known roads and up a well inclined driveway, they reach the top to find a much smaller house compared to what Keith has seen so far. This one comes off more quaint, like a cabin hidden amongst the woods, plants of every kind growing around the property.

It's nice. Keith approves.

“This is nice,” he decides to say aloud when they park.

“It is,” Lance takes off first, clearly familiar with it all, and Keith follows behind slowly, admiring the woodwork of the stairs leading up to a balcony. Miniature sculptures were laid out to greet them, vines cascading down from a makeshift roof, the sunlight still managing to creep through to create an eerily calm atmosphere.

Lance has already knocked, and when Keith finally makes it back to his side the door was opening, a delighted, strong accented voice greeting them a moment after.

“Lance, my boy,” a man steps out, and Keith wasn't sure what he had expected.

He was well dressed, his shoulder-length ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail, his smile partially hidden behind one incredible moustache. His gaze lands on Keith, half-curious, half-welcoming.

“And what's your name, my friend?”

Keith is having a hard time believing this man is even real. “Keith, sir.”

“I'm Coran,” a hand lands on Keith's shoulder, warm. “And please, there's no need for 'sir'. That was a long time ago, now.”

“Ah, don't go all sentimental on us old man,” Lance teases.

“You kids these days have no respect for your elders,” Coran sighs, but he's smiling. “Well, come on in, both of you. There's coffee and crumpets set up in the kitchen. Are you hungry, Keith?”

He's still taking in the interior of Coran's home when he answers with an offhanded, “Sure”. There isn't an abundance of furniture or miscellaneous items, nor even a TV, the kitchen seemingly the most modern part of the house with dark marble-top counters and wooden carvings incorporated along the shelves and drawers.

“How long have you lived here?” He asks.

Coran thinks it over. “About six years, or so. I inherited it from my father when he passed away shortly before. It's one of the reasons I left the Navy, actually.”

Keith feels a pang of sympathy, but has never felt that apologising for one's loss ever does much good. So he admires the house some more, hearing Coran and Lance engage in chatter behind him as he explores the back, coming to face an impossibly gorgeous view that looks out along the hillside. He could definitely see himself living in a place like this someday, to retire comfortably in nature, to surround himself in serene silence.

When he's sure he's done enough wandering, he returns to the kitchen, pouring himself a coffee and watching the two men interact like old friends. Huh.

“I suppose we should get to it then,” Coran says, and Keith converts back to his awkward self, never really knowing what to do while Lance does his job.

“Alright, gimme a couple of minutes,” Lance says as he leaves the room.

Keith watches him go, and when it's only himself and Coran he shoves his hands in his pockets, opening and closing his mouth twice as he grows unsure of what to say.

Coran breaks the silence after he swallows a bite of his crumpet. “I'm sure you're thinking 'what's a sad old geezer like him doing paying for sex'?”

Keith starts, eyes widening involuntarily. “Uh...” _Damn, okay then_.

Coran chuckles lightly. “We actually don't engage in any sexual activities.”

Keith stares some more. Replays it. “Huh?”

Coran steps away from the counter and gently guides Keith into another room, lit up gorgeously by the natural sunlight seeping through the several skylights installed across the roof. He's then stopped in front of one of the many paintings hanging up along the walls, and it takes him a few good moments, until...

“Is that... Lance?” He breathes out.

Coran nods. “Yes. He models for me.” He smiles fondly. “When I retired, I was rather... lost, I suppose. Most people have families to go back to, another life, but I had been with the SEALs for so long I'd never really stopped to consider what I might do once it was all over.”

Keith goes to look at another painting, curious; a man, standing out against the green of the forest, bathing by a shimmering lake. Coran's style was skewed enough you wouldn't think it was Lance, but now that the information was known, it was hard to un-see.

“It was Lance, actually, who suggested I channel my lifetime of service into art. And then, when I wanted to start practise painting the human body, I had the idea to hire Lance every so often to model for me.”

“That's...” Keith starts, “Nice.” It made sense; Lance _was_ gorgeous, after all.

Coran seems to pick up on the sincerity in the words, so Keith doesn't feel too bad about not contributing much to the conversation.

“And I've never actually been much of a fan of sex, to be frank,” Coran continues casually, his attention now focusing on Lance once he comes back.

Keith pauses. And then—oh. _Oh_.

“I'm ready,” Lance says, now wearing nothing but a blue robe and slippers, it seems.

“Wonderful,” Coran beams, turning back to tilt his head to Keith in a half-bow. “It was a pleasure, Keith. We'll be seeing you in a couple of hours. Make yourself at home. If you need me for any reason, don't be afraid to find me.”

“Yeah,” Lance waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe we can double model. Wouldn't that be a treat.”

Keith feels a flush reach his face, so he scowls at Lance in return.

The two men leave to enter what looks to be a studio, the door closing softly behind them.

Keith looks out the window again and tells himself to enjoy it while he's here.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, it's been a while, eh?
> 
> so uh, things got pretty busy for me for a while. a bunch of stuff happened--working full time again, having multiple days where i just wasn't feeling... good? life took a toll on me and I just needed a break for a while.  
> and I'm sure a lot of you are on tumblr, so you'd know about all of the negativity that's been happening, and it really put me off writing for a while there (I was almost ready to leave), but i decided to wait it out to see what happens. 
> 
> so i'm happy to announce my return, because i did miss it, and I'm so sorry for everyone who's waited this long for the second instalment! (I'm aiming for chapter three to be much sooner, i promise)  
> leave your thoughts/comments, let me know what you think! xx
> 
> the songs the boys were singing: [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHz2w1cUjjE) and [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cqU1pFRqYE) ;)


	3. Ain't Never Felt This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's PlayStation wars, a new client, horrible flirting, and a Bonding Moment™.

Keith's planned peaceful Sunday morning sleep-in is rudely interrupted by Red choosing to walk across his chest, one of her paws eventually digging into Keith's neck insistently as he tries to wait her out. She doesn't budge, and so Keith resorts to shoving her off the bed with a huff.

A few minutes pass where he thinks he's in the clear, when Red decides to start whining, these short, high-pitched noises that always grates at Keith's nerves.

When it doesn't stop, he throws his covers off in a fit of irritation, and he looks down at her with a hard glare. She stares back, unfazed. Typical.

“Fine. I'm up. You happy now?”

She answers by jumping up onto the bed again and rubbing along his arm, her soft fur helping to diminish his bad mood minutely. He caves and pats her, letting out a fond sigh when she nuzzles into his hand.

“Time to get up then,” he cracks his neck, savouring when it pops in turn. Throwing a t-shirt over his bare chest, he pads over to the bathroom, too lazy to brush his teeth and settles for mouth wash instead.

Red follows behind him as he walks to the kitchen, and soon she's pacing between his legs as he stands in front of the fridge, blankly staring at his options for breakfast. Deciding on a grilled cheese sandwich, he pulls the ingredients out and dumps them on the counter, and then pours a handful of dry mix into Red's bowl after she bumps into him again.

10 minutes and a tonne of cheese later, his apartment now smells like something other than wet towels, and he goes to sit down at his kitchen table amongst the piles of papers he never bothers to put away. He pokes through them as he eats, finishing the last bite of his sandwich and then downing an old Budweiser he finds in the back of his fridge (hey, its Sunday, and his personal God just happens to endorse the occasional morning drink).

Looking around the kitchen and then out into his living room, he realises it's about time he does some Spring cleaning. It's definitely been more than a month, so he blames it on his new job rendering him lazy when he gets home everyday. (That's a lie and he owes Allura his life).

He starts with vacuuming, and instantly Red scurries away, slipping out through her cat-door when the machine comes to life for the first time in ages. He sucks up an alarming amount of fur, and makes a mental note to brush Red when she comes back.

Next, he gathers up every stack of papers and letters and notes and sorts them all correctly, instantly glad he does when he spots an old bill he forgot to send away.

A while later, just before he sets up a bucket of cleaning supplies to tackle the bathroom, a text comes through on his phone. Any reason to avoid the hell that is his bathroom, he almost dives for it, brows rising when he sees who it is.

_12:55 > (Lance) did you know a Wombat's poop is cube-shaped? Wild_

Keith reads the message a few times, wondering if maybe Lance had sent it to the wrong person by mistake. Before he has a chance to reply, another text comes through.

_12:57 > (Lance) been watching a lot of animal fact videos. Had to spread the news obvs, vry important ;) _

Huh, alright. Keith sends back a simple _'ok'_ , unsure of what else to contribute to the conversation. Sighing deeply and then turning to his toilet, he grabs the brush and scrubs in raw, probably using more sanitary cleaner than strictly necessary in the process. Finally done and sweating like mad, he decides to hit two birds with one stone and cleans the shower at the same time he washes himself (also revelling in the fact he can afford to run the hot water for longer than a few minutes).

Smelling like the beaches of Hawaii now, he throws on a fresh pair of clothes and collapses onto his bed, muscles crying out in joy when he relaxes into the comforter, eyes closing.

He doesn't even realise he fell into a nap until he's woken up by his phone some time later. He ignores it, turning over onto his side to relieve his back, but when it rings again he sighs, following the call of the X-files theme song indicating it's Pidge calling.

“Yes?” He answers after the fourth ring.

“ _Dude, were you still sleeping? C'mon, I know your new job isn't_ that _hard.”_

“I wasn't _still_ sleeping,” Keith scowls, “I've been up, but then I... accidentally took a nap.”

“ _Accidentally?”_

“Shut up. What do you want?”

“ _Oh, nothing really. Except... I just purchased Battle Arena Toshinden, bitch, and you're going to play it with me for the rest of the foreseeable future.”_

Keith grins on an eyeroll. “Alright, come on over, then.”

“ _Cool, be there soon. I'll bring some snacks.”_

When the line goes silent he tosses the phone to the bed before making his way over to the hallway closet, rummaging around for a while until he locates his old PlayStation and goes to set it up in the lounge room.

As he begins to plug it in, he looks down to see an old stain in the carpet; wine, of course, on one particularly heated night during a game of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2. Matt had been a spectator that night and claimed both Keith and Pidge had been at fault when the wine toppled to the ground, but Keith remains convinced Pidge can't handle losing at a game gracefully and knocked it over in a fit of rage.

After that day no drinks have been allowed near them on game night... it was for the best.

Around 20 minutes later, Pidge's excited rattle against the door echoes around the apartment, and Keith goes to let her in. Her face is stretched wide with a grin, and soon the game is being shoved in his face so hard he almost stumbles back. Pidge has a surprising amount of strength considering she never exercises.

“Hey,” he greets behind a face-full of game.

“From this moment on, we are no longer friends. It's every gamer for themselves.”

Keith rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to hide his bottles of whiskey. Pidge goes to put the game in the slot, and throws Keith the controller she _didn't_ lay claim to over 4 years ago. Keith sits himself down comfortably, and Pidge turns to him wickedly, the selector hovering over the 'start' button.

“You ready?”

Keith nods. “Bring it.”

 

/

 

“Oh my god, _seriously?!_ ”

Keith instinctively finds himself inching further away the more hits he lands on Pidge's player.

He presses the buttons repeatedly and swivels the stick to command Eiji to land another attack on Sofia, and in turn he hears Pidge curse under her breath. The seconds are ticking down, and so is Pidge's lifebar, and Keith knows for certain a rematch will be demanded after this.

It's finally over, a simple 'Win' title flashing on the screen in celebration of Keith's victory.

Pidge sighs, and slumps back against the couch.

Keith quirks an eyebrow and turns to look at her. “Giving up?”

“Ha ha. Laugh it up now, dickmuncher.”

Keith reacts appropriately to her threats before he gets up to wander into the kitchen. “Mind if I open the Doritos?”

“Yes. I brought them over _specifically_ just to look at.”

“Hmm,” Keith shoves a handful in his mouth, speaking through the fake cheesy goodness. “You hold on to that anger. Channel it to defeat me, young grasshopper.”

She follows him, opening the fridge in search of a coke can she left in there the last time she was over. She downs almost half, eyes set on Keith. “Question.”

Keith makes a noise to communicate for her to shoot.

“How would you feel about going on a blind date this Friday?”

He thinks it over in the time it takes to swallow. “I dunno.”

She nudges him. “I've met him a couple of times through Matt. He's a nice guy. I think you'd get along.”

Keith leaves the kitchen. “Am I already at the age for blind dates being my last resort? Really?”

She follows him again. “Hey, c'mon, it's not so bad. You don't have a lot of options these days.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I just mean—ack—” she stumbles slightly, coke almost falling to the floor. “There's so much online dating these days. And you barely remember to use your phone to _text_ half the time, so I don't think Tinder is for you, my friend.”

Keith won't deny the internet scares him a little bit. People were crazy-weird online.

“I'm just saying,” she sits down next to him on the couch, smiling behind the rim of the can. “There's no harm, right? You have some fun, get a free meal. What's the worst that could happen?”

“Food poisoning. He could be an axe murderer.”

“An axe? Man, you are _way_ behind on the times.”

Keith allows his head to fall back, staring at the ceiling for a bit while Pidge waits expectantly for his answer. He guesses... no, there isn't any _real_ harm if he were to say yes—only the complete awkwardness that _is_ blind dating as a concept. It'll be the first date he's gone on in... _months_ , actually. Pidge will be ecstatic.

“Fine,” he eventually says.

As expected, Pidge beams, punching him once lightly on the shoulder. “Also, did I mention he owns a Harley? And has several tattoos? And that he knows every single quote from Anchorman, _verbatim._ ”

“It sounds like _you_ want to date him.”

An eye-roll. “Oh, yep, you got me there.”

Keith picks up the controller again, throwing Pidge a confident smirk. “You ready for round two, gremlin?”

She grins, all teeth. “Bring it, mullet.”

 

/ / /

 

Come Monday morning, Keith was feeling pretty good.

He hadn't heard from Lance again after his bizarre text fact, so it was the first thing he saw when he opened up their conversation on his phone. He lets Lance know he was out the front of his apartment building, puts the car in neutral, and waits.

Some time passes that borders on unusual, and Keith peaks out the window to see if he can spot Lance walking around his apartment. The drapes were shut, so that plan fails instantly. Still not receiving any kind of reply on his phone, Keith turns off the car and makes his way up the steps to the buildings entrance, pressing the button next to Lance's name a few times.

There's a moment of nothing, until the speaker begins to crackle, and suddenly Lance's voice is huffing through the connection.

“ _Yeah, what?_ ”

Keith's brows rise. “It's me.” And, to be sure: “Keith.”

“ _Oh_ ,” there's a noise in the background, followed by a muttered curse. “ _Hey, sorry. I might be a while, you wanna just come up? I've got coffee out._ ”

Keith looks back at the car, then back to the speaker, says, “Sure. Alright.”

It's followed by an obnoxious buzzing noise, and Keith hurriedly goes to push the large door open and steps inside the building. The foyer was empty, aside from a few potted plants near the elevator. The ride up is quick, and soon he's exiting onto the top floor and searching around until he's in front of 6D.

He barely finishes knocking when it swings open, and then he watches Lance retreat, mobile held up to his ear, almost flying around the apartment.

“Come in, coffee's on the table!” Lance shouts, voice disappearing down the hallway.

Keith pauses for a moment, only mildly concerned about what might happen if he were to step inside. He does, though, and closes the door behind him. He was only half expecting a house fire to be happening, but was otherwise met with a relatively normal sight.

Lance's apartment is nice, lived in, and it has a charming aroma of vanilla wafting about. Since Keith still knows next to nothing about Lance, it feels oddly like he was intruding. But, since Lance had no qualms about it, Keith shrugs the worry away and goes off in search of the coffee Lance had promised.

After he takes a sip, he realises he's alone, and it's grown quiet. Suddenly awkward again, he decides to pass the time by walking about the living area. There are photos, heaps of them hanging and standing; probably Lance's family members. Keith can't help but think of the only photo he has tucked away at home; himself at 5 years old, sitting on his mother's lap, grinning wide at the camera as they play on the swing set at his childhood park.

Perhaps he'd been zoned out for a while, because when Lance finally reappears he doesn't even notice, jerking slightly when Lance has to clear his throat.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Lance says, gesturing vaguely. He's wearing bleached jeans today, with a nice button down that clings in all the right places, sleeves rolled up halfway. Keith thinks he might have on lip gloss as well, but can't be too sure.

“Uh, no worries. Are you okay?” Keith feels like he should ask.

Lance smiles. “Aw, you worried about me?” He heads towards the kitchen, most likely getting his own cup of coffee. “I'm fine. Just some family drama.” He calls back.

Keith finishes his drink in one long swing, feeling like he needs an excuse to follow Lance into the kitchen. He motions to see if he can leave the cup in the sink, and Lance nods. “Alright, well, we'll need to speed up a little now. You're first client is at—”

“Don't worry,” Lance cuts him off. “I called Allura, she made some slight adjustments to accommodate.”

Keith blinks, pauses. “Alright. I feel like maybe I should be told these things?”

Lance sends him a sheepish look. “Sorry. It doesn't happen often, but I'll make sure to let you know next time.”

“Thanks,” Keith says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Uh, nice place, by the way.”

Lance straightens, as if now acutely aware that yes, Keith was, in fact, standing in his apartment. He smiles good-naturedly. “Thank you. I always try to keep the space welcoming. I love to host.”

Even without knowing Lance that well, he can picture that easily. “I can picture that.”

Lance looks to the ground quickly then back up, smiling. “Hunk and I like to throw parties; he cooks, I decorate, and then we both entertain by performing a duet on our karaoke machine.”

“Sounds wild.”

“Oh, it can be. One time we threw an all-nighter, and when I woke up the next day, I came out to find a hired magician passed out on our couch and two chickens on our kitchen table.”

“Impressive.”

“That was at my old place, though, so don't worry about any lingering faeces in _this_ kitchen.”

Keith gives him a half-smirk. “I wasn't going to.”

Lance bites the corner of his mouth, challenging.

Keith pushes away from the counter, jerking his head. “Well, you ready?”

“Yep,” Lance places his own mug in the sink as well, and picks up his phone as he follows Keith out the front door. “Y'know, it really is like having my own personal bodyguard. You ever think about buying some shades to go with the outfit?”

Keith instantly thinks about Pidge suggesting the same thing and can't help but snort quietly. “If you buy them, then sure.”

“Oh, you're gonna regret those words my friend.”

A strange feeling blooms in Keith's chest at Lance's casual words. He knows there's no real depth to them, and in knowing that, he's almost... disappointed there isn't? With startling clarity, Keith watches Lance out of the corner of his eye, and thinks, _hey, I think I'd like to get to know you better._ It's an unexpected thought, and as quickly as it came, the elevator dings and they're walking out towards the car, so Keith's focus returns to the job.

He'd already checked over Lance's first client of the day; one of two remaining clients he has yet to meet. Another penthouse, but instead of a hotel it was at the guy's apartment.

“Had much luck with your writing?”

Momentarily distracted as he pulls away from the curb, the question seems to go in one ear and out the other. So he throws a quick, “Sorry?” over his shoulder.

“Uh, your song writing, I mean. Any luck?”

 _Oh_. “Uh, been working on a couple mixes lately, but... I haven't really found _the one_ , yet... I guess.”

Lance's smile is genuine when Keith goes to look in the rear mirror. “Fair enough. I'm curious about what exactly your style is. Think I'll get to hear something in the future?”

Keith likes the sound of that, _in the future_. He's spent so much of his life worrying about just simply getting by, that it's nice to just sit back and... breath. For once, he doesn't have to worry about his back account when he pays for something—a simple luxury, perhaps, but he thinks if he can manage to stay afloat until the end, then... he'd be okay with that.

He hasn't had much experience with people actually _wanting_ to hear his music, but the thought of Lance listening to it and possibly liking it, was almost a concept too out of reach for him. “Yeah, I'm sure I can play you something sometime.”

Lance nods appreciatively, smiling like they've just shared some sort of secret.

Maybe they had?

After that they mostly just chat aimlessly for the rest of the drive, and Keith is thankful the topic has drifted away from himself. He'd much rather hear about Lance's life, to be honest. There was no denying there was way more to him than meets the eye.

In the end, Keith has to glance the address a couple of times to make sure he was in the right place. He's not at all familiar with this particular part of town. It's lavish, with cherry blossom trees sprouting from the cleanest sidewalks Keith thinks he's ever seen. Even the air around here seems fresher than it had been a few blocks ago.

Finally finding the right place, he follows Lance's directions until they're parking underground, pulling up into the spot specifically for them. Keith feels marginally helpless as Lance performs most of the escorting duties up to this guy's apartment, and Keith can't help but be distracted by his surroundings. It was, arguably, the nicest place they've been to yet.

“Why am I only just meeting this guy now?” He asks curiously, not really expecting an answer.

“Oh,” Lance frowns, as if just realising that himself. “I'd almost forgot. He's been away on business this past month, so I'm quite certain he'll be happy to be back.”

“He's a regular?”

“Yeah,” Lance leans against the elevator railing, and his eyes shift over to Keith. “He's, um... a character, to put it mildly. Got rich off his daddy, but at least made something of himself and branched off. He's not my richest client, but he's close. And he always makes a show so I remember that.”

“What?” Keith feels his face twist. “Why?”

“Superiority complex? Who knows, really. But I wouldn't peg him as someone to worry about. He's actually quite friendly to my drivers.”

“And you?” Keith asks.

“Me...?”

“Is he friendly to you?” Keith pushes.

“Oh,” Lance blinks, as if the question was somehow foreign to him. “Yes. I've had some crazies in the past, so I feel like I should pick them out early by now. Kyle's harmless.”

Keith feels a twinge of doubt, always cautious, but for now shoves the worry aside in favour of walking Lance, once again, towards a penthouse suite. The door is opened by, Keith assumes, a housekeeper, and quickly they're both ushered inside the pristine room.

They are instantly greeted with a view of the city as far as the eye can see, the tinted glass walls blocking out the harsh glare of the early morning sun. A balcony stretches along the perimeter of the apartment, curving out of sight and leading up to what appears to be a rooftop garden. A colour scheme of greys and blues works its way throughout each room, blending in with the dark timber floorboards and white furniture.

It's definitely the home of a millionaire.

Absolutely.

“I always love coming here,” Lance says as he steps over towards the view. “I love heights, always have. There's something so... _amazing_ , to realise just how small we really are, y'know?” He turns to Keith with an exuberant smile, the sun catching his profile beautifully. Keith forces his eyes elsewhere.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I remember so many times in my childhood where I wanted to have a chance to fly. But adults always fail to tell you just how hard that actually _is_.”

Lance makes an agreeable noise, and they stand in companionable silence. Keith eventually breaks the quiet on a loud exhale, and Lance shifts next to him, as if going to ask him something, but they're ultimately interrupted by a pleased voice speaking behind them.

“Hey, there's my boy.”

Keith turns, but more so instinctively and less out of actual respect for their host.

A man who can't be much older than them with blonde hair and sharp features is already walking over towards Lance, face beaming like they were long lost friends. All too quickly he's pulling Lance into a hug, and the man buries his face into Lance's neck, content. Lance sends Keith a look over his shoulder, as if to say, _'He's a big softie, see?'_

“It's nice to see you too, Kyle,” Lance laughs, rubbing his back.

Kyle pulls back, raising a hand to run his thumb along Lance's cheekbone. Lance averts his gaze, as if suddenly shy he has an audience. Kyle looks pleased. Keith wonders if he's missed something.

“It's good to be back. Mumbai was nice, but it doesn't beat home,” Kyle says with half-lidded eyes, and Keith really wants to be anywhere else right now. Kyle seems to finally notice him. “Hey man, the name's Kyle. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Keith says, hoping Kyle doesn't pick up on the slight hesitancy. Something about him... “I'm Keith.”

“Damn Lance, I think you go through more drivers than I do frequent flyer miles,” Kyle pinches Lance's hip subtly.

Keith see it and frowns. He wasn't totally sure what to make of this situation, having a difficult time trying to read this guy. All outward indications suggest Kyle is, in fact, harmless, but a minor tug of intuition couldn't help but make Keith feel slightly uneasy. But he decides to give Kyle the benefit of the doubt, and trusts Lance's judgement.

“So, you travel a lot then?” He makes polite conversation, walking over to place his body more in between the two men. Kyle doesn't seem to notice, or chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Kyle winks at Lance.

“Well, this past month has definitely been a quiet one without you, but Keith here has been good to me,” Lance says, clearly trying to shift the attention away from himself. “Right, Keith?”

“Yeah, of course,” Keith deadpans, “We can't imagine life without each other now.”

Lance rubs at his nose, biting down on a grin. Kyle laughs as he looks between them, but Keith can tell there's no real depth to it.

Kyle slaps a hand on Keith's back several times and jostles him, a touch harder then strictly necessary. “Well, Keith, it was nice to meet you. Would you like to stick around, or...?”

It's clear the invitation is only half-hearted, so Keith shakes his head. “I'll be down in the lobby, Lance.”

“Alright,” Lance says lowly as Kyle begins to drag him away. Lance wraps an arm around Kyle's waist and throws Keith one last look, and Keith releases a sigh once they're out of sight.

He could really use a drink.

 

/ / /

 

“Oh, dude, I've been dying for some Cool Ranch,” Pidge nudges his side to grab his attention.

“Sure, in the cart.”

“Thanks,” Pidge tosses the packet in, and Keith pretends to not notice when she slips in a tube of Pringles as well. He loves them, so it doesn't matter.

It was Thursday now, and Keith, for some unknown reason since he can remember, has always dedicated his Thursday nights to grocery shopping. He figures it's because it's not as busy as the weekend, but he thinks the vague memories he has of shopping with his mum were always during the week.

Pidge invited herself along for the ride, since she hated shopping alone (and they both knew she would only buy horribly fatty food if there wasn't someone else around to stop her). So far, Keith surveyed the contents on his shopping cart, and concluded he really should purchase something of sustenance. For his health and what not.

“Hey, remind me to give you Lucas' number tonight.”

“Huh?” Keith says as he looks over a questionable can of beans.

“Lucas. Your blind date tomorrow night.”

“Oh, right.”

“Don't sound too excited,” Pidge teases, walking on ahead in favour of the confectionery aisle. On a quest for Redvines, of course.

Just as he's about to turn down into the predominately clustered pasta aisle, he happens to run into a familiar face, barely avoiding a collision.

“Keith!” Allura smiles at him, looking far too gorgeous, even when standing under fluorescent lighting. It's not really surprising, though.

“Hey Allura,” Keith says as he settles comfortably on the handlebar of the cart. “What brings you here on this fine evening?”

She laughs. “Same reason as you, I presume. But also, I'm buying supplies for a dinner party tomorrow night. A big family dinner where no doubt my parents will try to set me up again with this weeks current hottest bachelor.”

Keith cringes appropriately. “Sounds fun.”

Allura hums as she goes to tighten her ponytail. It's almost surreal to see her looking so casual, usually the epitome of business. But Keith wouldn't put it past her to tap into a 'girls gone wild' persona; she had that quality about her.

“So, should I be giving you another work update? It's been two weeks again,” Keith starts.

Allura tilts her head quickly and then giggles. “We're not in office hours, Keith. We're just two people who bumped into each other at the store. Two people who are... friends?”

It takes him a second to realise it's a question, and feels a smile tug at his lips. “Yeah, that'd be nice.”

She beams. “You have any big plans this weekend?” She asks, eyeing the items in his cart.

“Uh, not really. Most of these belong to—” Pidge comes back, throwing several packets of candy in with the rest, and Keith turns to her with a sinful smirk. “Speak of the devil.”

Pidge eyes him. “What were you saying about me?” She almost demands, and then with a fast glance, also notices Allura waiting patiently for an introduction. Keith watches as Pidge freezes at the same time a flush makes its way across her cheeks. “H-hello...”

“Pidge, this is Allura, my boss. Allura, my best friend Pidge,” Keith gestures, trying to hide his grin.

“It's lovely to meet you, Pidge,” Allura offers out a hand, and Pidge takes it almost shyly.

There's silence for a good 7 seconds as Pidge's brain seems to be shutting down while Allura looks on with a concerned expression. Keith knows he'll have to help Pidge out before it gets worse.

“Pidge adores her candy,” Keith finishes his story from before, “So this is just a typical weekday shop.”

“Oh, I see,” Allura releases her hand, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I love Redvines, too.”

Pidge seems to be going into cardiac arrest. Keith is trying so hard not to laugh. He's about to change the subject when Pidge finally speaks.

“P-pidge,” she stammers, “That's me. I'm her. And you're Allura, Keith's boss. You're really pretty. Um, pretty _good_ , I mean, at handling Keith. He's a handful, huh?”

Keith would be offended, but he thinks it's about time to throw her a much needed life jacket.

“Oh, Pidge, can you run to the delicatessen and get some turkey for me?”

She looks at him, presumably about to ask why, and then thinks better of it. She nods, almost shouting a final, “Nice to meet you,” to Allura before scampering away.

Keith waits until she's out of ear shot before turning back to Allura. “She means well, really...” he stops when he takes in Allura's slightly tinted cheeks. Well that's... _interesting_.

“She was sweet,” Allura waves him off, biting her lip. There's a moment where Keith isn't sure what to say, but Allura saves him from worrying and steps away while making some hand gestures. “Well, I'll let you get back to it. Tell Pidge I said goodbye. See you at work—oh, and have a nice weekend!”

“You too,” Keith waves back until she's out of sight, and he continues on down the pasta aisle. Pidge joins him again a few minutes later.

“Oh my god, please tell me I'm just in some really horrible coma and I didn't just embarrass myself in front of your boss just now,” Pidge groans.

“I hate to say it, but no. No coma,” Keith says, consoling her with an awkward pat.

“ _God_ she was pretty. And I'm _so_ gay,” Pidge whines.

Keith ends up buying 3 more packets of condolence-Redvines before they leave.

 

/ / /

 

Friday night. Date night.

Pidge had given Lucas' number to him the previous day, and they'd been making polite conversation over text so far. The guy seems nice enough, from what simple plain text can convey. He even made a joke that Keith found himself laughing at.

So now, it was time to get pretty.

Although, if someone were to ask, it was mainly him just showering and trying to comb his bangs away from his face and to use a cologne that Matt got him some years ago.

Figuring a suit was maybe a touch too much, he opts for a more comfortable vibe. Jeans, a white t-shirt and an old leather jacket his grandfather once owned.

He walks back out into the lounge room, and Red was perched on the end of the sofa, her big eyes watching Keith attentively. He goes to scratch under her chin. She purrs back.

“Is that you wishing me luck for tonight?”

She butts her head into his hand, so he takes that as a yes.

He makes sure she has enough food and water in her bowls before he leaves, and he giddily makes his way downstairs and over to where his neglected motorbike was parked. He runs a hand over her, missing the thrill of driving her around town. He's missed it.

He glides on, revving her engine to life as a few birds nearby fly away in surprise. Stand kicked up and helmet on, he pivots and drives out onto the street, grin already in place as the wind hits his exposed neck, the vibrations of the engine pumping up to his heart.

It was amazing.

He ends up finding a parking spot close to the restaurant Lucas told him to meet at. Still with time to spare, he takes to wander along the riverbank nearby, admiring the bright orange glow of the sky and the faint hum of the city life behind him.

He almost becomes too immersed in the quiet that he doesn't register his phone ringing away in his jacket pocket. He makes a mental note to turn the volume up.

He pulls it out, expecting to see Lucas' number flashing across the screen, but is proven surprised when he sees it's Lance instead. Keith knows he'd only be calling for something important, surely, so he stops to answer it.

“Hey, Lance. You alright?” He asks.

“ _O-oh, uh, yes? Kind of. I mean—_ ” there's a noise that suggests a car speeding by, and Lance clears his throat. “ _You know I would never call unless it was serious, I guess._ ”

“What happened?” Keith asks quickly, because even off the clock, Lance was still... _kind of_ , his friend.

“ _I'm not... hurt, or anything. But I'm in a bad situation, and I stupidly forgot my phone. I'm using a payphone right now. I thought they were extinct._ ”

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to think this through as quickly as possible. “Where are you?”

“ _Keith, if you're busy, it's okay, don't worry—_ ”

“Lance, no. I'm coming to get you. Your safety is always a priority. So where are you?”

Lance mutters away from the phone, probably trying to find a street name. “ _All I can remember is passing an old pub. I think it was called the Mary Rose Inn_.”

“That's enough,” Keith pulls his phone away to look it up on Google Maps. Lance was definitely far away, but that was fine; Keith was fast. “I'll be there soon.”

“Thanks Keith,” Lance exhales, “Sorry, again.”

“Don't worry, just hang tight,” Keith says, and ends the call. He pulls up his conversation with Lucas and sends off a text.

**7:52 > hey, where are you right now?**

Keith turns and heads back to his bike, hoping Lucas will reply before he has to drive. He does.

_7:58 > (Lucas) just leaving now, why?_

**7:59 > a friend of mine got in some trouble. I need to pick him up. This isn't a cop out, trust me. Can we reschedule?**

Keith hates the sinking feeling of letting someone down, even with good reason.

_8:01 > (Lucas) that's fine. I hope your friend is okay. I'll text you tomorrow?_

Keith sighs gratefully as he mounts his bike once again.

**8:02 > thanks. Yeah, talk tomorrow, then :)**

He plans a route for himself to take, turns his phone volume up to full, and speeds off.

 

/ / /

 

“Lance?”

The other man, who has his head buried in his drawn up knees, looks up elatedly, pushing himself off the steps of the rest stop bathroom and strides over to Keith. Keith meets him halfway.

“Keith, hey,” Lance smiles faintly, a hand reaching out towards Keith, but he pulls it back and runs it through his hair. “Thanks for coming to get me.” His eyes trail over Keith's appearance quickly. “Were you heading somewhere? I didn't ruin your evening did I?”

The answer was on the tip of Keith's tongue, but for some reason he found the words caught. He tells himself it's because he hates to see that sad look on Lance's face. “No, I was just... it's fine. Don't worry, you didn't ruin anything.” He smiles through a shrug, hoping it was enough.

If Lance suspects otherwise, he doesn't mention it, and Keith is thankful.

“So, you want me to drop you home?” He asks.

“To be honest? I think I really need a drink to forget this whole shitfest,” Lance scoffs to the ground.

Keith makes an agreeable noise. “Sure. I know a few places.”

Lance looks up, mildly surprised. “Oh, you're gonna join me?”

Keith backtracks. “I mean, I don't have to—”

“No!” Lance says hurriedly, and throws Keith an honest smile. “No, that's fine. I'd like that.”

Keith nods, angling towards his bike. “Alright, let's go. I know a place.”

As soon as they reach his bike, Lance whistles appreciatively. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks.” He hands the spare helmet to Lance. “I'll slow down for you.”

“Nonsense,” Lance waves him off, clearly excited to get going. Keith feels a burst of pride.

“It's your funeral,” he warns as he slides on, waiting for Lance to follow.

And it's stupid, because he's expecting it—he _knows_ Lance is going to have to wrap his arms around Keith to keep steady during the ride. But in knowing that, it still does nothing to quell the heightened racing of his heart when it happens.

Lance fits against him perfectly, like a second skin. His hands come around to slip inside Keith's jacket pockets, thighs brushing along thighs. Keith feels his whole body tingle.

Keith also realises just how much he's missed having someone ride with him. He exhales slowly before igniting the engine. He stares dead ahead. “Hold on tight.”

Lance leans forward so his front is pressed to Keith's back. Keith feels like he's on fire. “Drive it like you mean it.”

Keith snorts, and then obeys.

 

/ / /

 

The ride there, Keith can admit to speeding up on occasion, just to hear Lance laugh happily in his ear.

When they finally pull up at one of Keith's favourite bars, they dismount, and Lance jumps on the balls of his feet several times, eyes practically sparkling. “Man, that was great.”

“Oh, uh, I'm glad.”

Lance hands back the helmet before patting Keith lightly on his shoulder. “Alright, so, I'm shouting tonight. It's only fair.”

Keith's not about to complain. “Awesome.”

Lance leads the way in like he already knows the place. The bar wasn't relatively busy, which was why Keith likes it so much. They find a secluded spot near the back, and Keith slides into one side of the booth while Lance goes to order them some drinks.

He comes back with what looks like a cocktail for himself, and hands over a pint to Keith.

“Thanks,” Keith takes it gratefully, downing almost half and savouring the taste.

There's a comfortable silence for a bit as Keith tries to work out the song that's playing on the jukebox, recognising the chords. He lets himself relax into the leather cushioning, the smell of tobacco and grime a familiar welcome.

“Thanks again, for tonight,” Lance says as he sips on his drink.

Keith can't help but wonder, “What happened, anyway?” Lance's body language turns a touch uncomfortable, so Keith stumbles slightly. “It's alright. You don't need to tell me. I'm just glad you're fine.”

Lance eyes him for a moment, clearly thinking his options over. He eventually sighs and rests his elbows on the table. “Believe it or not, dating in my profession isn't exactly easy,” he starts, and Keith offers a noise of sympathy.

“So, tonight didn't exactly go so well. We'd been having a nice time, me and this guy, and after a while he asked if I wanted to go for a drive,” Lance continues, leaning back to mirror Keith. “I said sure. And then after a while, we park and he says we're at his place, and I thought maybe I'd missed something. He asks if I want to come inside, and that's when I learn he already knew what I did.”

Keith frowns, not liking at all where this was going.

“I have no idea how he found out, but... pretty quickly he was asking for sex, saying 'You do this all the time, right? Why are you getting so mad?' So, of course I tell him to go fuck himself and just got out and started walking. I remembered seeing that payphone, so I tried to head back that way. I would've called Hunk, but he and Shay left town for the weekend.”

Keith feels something hot churn in his gut, wanting nothing more than to search this asshole out and give him a nice punch to the face.

Lance seems to sense it, and nudges his foot to Keith's gently, tone light. “Hey, it's fine. Nothing I can't handle.”

“You shouldn't _have_ to handle that. Period.”

Lance gets a tired look on his face. “I'm used to it,” he smiles sadly to the table, and then says, “You probably want to know why I got into this job, right?”

Keith blinks. “I won't lie and say it hasn't crossed my mind.”

Lance shrugs. “It's cool. I've got the whole tragic backstory and everything,” he winks in an effort to lighten the mood. “Long story short: I was in college, second year. I'd been having doubts about my major, and obviously struggling with tuition. And then, later that year, my dad was in a car accident,” he pauses, picking at the straw in his drink. “It was pretty bad. He fell into a coma for several months. You can only imagine what that hospital bill looked like.”

“Shit,” Keith says. “I'm sorry.”

“My mum was struggling. Most of my siblings were too young to work. It wasn't looking good. So I dropped out of college and worked full time, but it still wasn't enough. And then, a friend of a friend told me about the job. I met Allura that week and got myself tested. She was impressed with how quickly I built up a clientele and eventually upped my price.” He grows quieter. “My mum... I never told her exactly how I was getting the money. But I kept pushing her to take it. Finally, dad woke up, but I... didn't stop. I wasn't drawn to school anymore, I was just... lost,” Lance finishes with a wince, crossing his arms.

“I get that,” Keith says. “So, you've never thought to go back?”

“Not back there, no. But I'm actually taking a night course at a community college-- business.”

Keith hadn't expected that. “Oh. Can I ask... why business?”

Lance seems to perk up again, and Keith can admit he prefers it that way. “I met Hunk in college. His minor was in hospitality. So, a few years ago we made the plan to open a restaurant together. He cooks, I plan. It's kind of our thing.”

“Yeah, I'm sensing a pattern there,” Keith teases.

“So, what about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Keith asks before he downs the rest of his beer.

“How many drinks do I have to buy you until I unlock _your_ tragic backstory?” Lance quirks a brow.

“How do you know I even have one?” Keith challenges.

Lance tilts his head, eyes soft. “In order to make great art, first one must suffer.”

An eerie calm follows. Keith shuffles lightly, looking away only to be drawn back to Lance's stare. "That was certainly a Hallmark moment for the books."

Lance offers a laugh, gesturing with his hand. “So, how many?”

Keith clears his throat and pretends to mull it over. “At least eleven.”

“Damn. I'm going to be breaking bank tonight.”

Keith snorts. “No you're not.”

Lance points a finger at him. “You got me there.”

Keith slides his now empty glass over, and Lance gives him a salute and leaves for a refill. Keith busies himself by cracking his knuckles and shrugging out of his jacket, suddenly aware by how warm it was inside the bar. Lance comes back, and his eyes widen slightly when he looks at Keith's forearm.

“Nice tat,” Lance says.

Keith shrugs as he drinks. “Teenage rebellion. You got any?”

Lance shakes his head.

Keith puts the glass down and watches as Lance places a coaster under it. He hides a smile behind his hand, and then lowers it. “My mum died when I was eight.”

Lance stills, and Keith makes a noise. “Sorry. I've been told I'm a fantastic conversationalist.” He jokes, and that earns him a small laugh. He sighs. “My dad tried his best, he really did, but when I was fourteen he dropped me off at my grandparents house and left, just like that.” It still stung if he thought about it too much, so he moves past it quickly. “My grandparents never told me where he went, and by then I was too angry to ask. I know they were just sparing my feelings about the whole thing.”

Lance hums. “That _is_ tragic.”

Keith accepts the change of tone. “Reckon I got you beat?”

“We'll meet up again when we're old and draw up a tally,” Lance snickers.

After that, conversation seems to come more easily than it ever has between them. He guesses that after revealing the worst to each other, there's really nothing else to hide. It had been almost... therapeutic. Keith couldn't remember the last time he had opened up quite that much to someone. Lance just seemed to... bring it out of him.

On maybe his sixth, or perhaps seventh beer, Keith was feeling pretty loose. He felt himself laughing at the dumbest shit, but he didn't mind, especially when it earned him a charming smile from Lance.

Occasionally, he'll sing along to the music, and Lance will always stop to listen. Keith tries not to let it boost his ego.

“So, what made you want to sing?” Lance asks once the song finishes.

Keith licks his lips, enjoying the pleasant buzz. “Nothing profound.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No. I just... enjoy it. My mum used to sing all the time, just around the house. It always made me happy to see her happy, so... I suppose I do it because it still... makes me happy.”

Lance nods like Keith actually _did_ say something profound.

“Oh, hey,” Lance leans over the table more, his hand grabbing Keith's wrist. “You got any social media?”

It's instantly warm where Lance is touching him. “U-uh... no.”

Lance actually pouts. Then he perks up. “Gimme your phone.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Gimme your phone, _please._ ”

Keith does so with only slight hesitation. Lance pulls back, giggling as he taps away. Keith moves to finish his beer while he waits. Soon, Lance appears to be done, but he glides out from his side and comes around to sit next to Keith. Their knees brush, and Keith feels his hand twitch.

“Okay, so,” Lance brings up an app, putting on a show. “You know snapchat?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, cool. Well, I've made you a profile and added me. It's really fun, man, you'll love it.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith grins wobbly.

Lance looks up, and it's probably the drinks talking, but does his gaze linger on Keith's lips? “Yeah. Here, I'll show you.”

And so, the next 10 minutes are spent trying to teach Keith how to work the app, and they end up taking more selfies than Keith can remember ever taking since he bought his damn phone.

It was ridiculous, but having Lance so close was... nice.

After that dies down, time passes almost too quickly for Keith's liking, and soon Keith feels himself relaxing far too well, and he knows pretty soon he's gonna be passing out. Lance doesn't look much better, so he votes to call it a night.

They walk outside together, bumping shoulders, and Lance laughs so hard he ends up collapsing into Keith's side, and without thinking he brings up an arm to wrap around the man's waist.

“M'not gonna even attempt to drive, so, I'll hail us a cab,” Keith almost murmurs it.

“Hmm,” Lance sighs, cheeks tinted pink and irises blown wide in the darkness of the street. Keith swallows hard.

They find a cab, and Keith relays Lance's address to the driver as best he can. He'll come back for his bike tomorrow. It's a quick drive, and Lance spends most of it dozing, but it gives Keith some much needed space to calm the blood pumping fast in his veins.

Pulling up in front of Lance's building, Keith tells the driver to wait and helps Lance to the gate.

“Thanks for tonight,” Lance whispers.

“It's fine. I had fun.”

Lance stares for a moment, then says, “Me too.”

“Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I'll send you a snap this weekend,” Lance grins, winking, and steps into his building with a final wave.

Keith exhales shakily and swivels to head back to the cab. His phone dings, and he reaches for it quickly. It's from Pidge, though, and he blinks a few times to focus his vision.

_1:12 > (Pidge) heyyy so how'd your date go? ;)_

And just like that, he realises Lucas hadn't crossed his mind even once since Lance had bought him that very first beer.

Not knowing how to reply, he locks his phone and leaves it for now, and glances over his shoulder to look up to Lance's floor.

After one final look, he turns back to the taxi, but not before letting a small smile curve out his lips.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh yeah so sorry about another long wait ahah. this chapter was supposed to be shorter, but it kept getting away from me and so now it's my longest chapter? figures 
> 
> so lemme know how you like it-- still okay? worse? better? your comments mean the world to me :') xx
> 
> and not that it matters, but here are the songs i pictured playing when writing certain scenes, [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1UC_DVq526M) and [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqGIR6eXlIc)

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [/tumblr](http://edsbrak.tumblr.com/) anytime, I love to chat! :) x


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